


in the valley of kings (you will come home)

by faerie_ground



Series: cherik adopt a baby telepath au [1]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff and Angst, M/M, More In Notes, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-X-Men: Days of Future Past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:28:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27709055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faerie_ground/pseuds/faerie_ground
Summary: Charles cranes his neck over Erik’s shoulder to peer at the blanket, and stares. If he’d been tired at all, the sight within them shocks the last vestiges of sleep out of him.The baby opens his huge brown eyes and stares up at both of them before breaking into a wide, guileless smile, babbling happily.“Right then,” Charles says after a while. “I’ll go put the kettle on, shall I?”*Alternatively, the story of how a year after Washington, it's a baby telepath that brings Erik Lehnsherr and Charles Xavier back together again.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Series: cherik adopt a baby telepath au [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2061576
Comments: 56
Kudos: 142





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> set a year after days of future past, but in the 1990s- in the universe of this fic, the events of days of future past take place in the beginning of the 1990s, and first class ten years before that, and so on. other than the time frame, everything else is canon. reasons for this time change will probably be clear if i c ever get round to turning this into series. 
> 
> this story was inspired by sam and i talking on twitter about what would happen if an oc of ours was in the xmen universe, and then talking about what would happen if that same oc was raised by charles and erik. so here's this fic which was supposed to be a oneshot but if yall know me from my previous stories you'd know my oneshots get monstrously long so this has been split in two. 
> 
> tw for mentions of canon-typical violence, child abuse, domestic violence and illegal experimentation on minors

Charles is a light sleeper. It’s a trait that stays with him- all the way from his father and the tests to taking care of his mother to Cain Marko and his fists to Cuba and then now, the dust of Washington settling over him and making the waking world lie an inch beyond his eyelids. It therefore stands to reason that the second the windowsill creaks he’s up in a shot, hoisting himself up and lashing out with his telepathy instantly. 

That’s not a trait that had stayed with him. That’s a newly formed trait, bitter and bold, carved into existence by Cuba by his students disappearing one by one in Vietnam by the letters that announce Sean’s death in black unfriendly print by- 

The tendrils of his telepathy forged cold and distant meet a barrier and recoil, stunned. He focuses his eyes and then widens them, staring at Erik who stares back, hidden beneath that infernal muddied magenta helmet of his. They stare at each other for a moment before Erik clears his throat. 

“Your security is dogshit,” Erik says bluntly. “Look into that with Hank.” He’s cradling something in his arms, something blue and soft. There’s a strain in his eyes of hesitation and anticipation. 

The ire in Charles after Washington has long run dry, faded in the weeks of getting more students and having the school up and running again. He has a purpose, now- Professor Xavier once again, headmaster to a bunch of scared, lonely mutants with no place else to go. He has no time to think about what Magneto is getting up to, what havoc he’s going to wreak on the humans next. Magneto himself had fallen off the grid, activities unclear what with the lack of assaults on humans. 

And if at night Charles jerks awake, sweat cold on his face from the dreams of Erik in the seat across from him, lounging like a king with a slight smile playing on his lips as he twirls a rook between his long fingers- well, that’s between him and the four walls of the room, no one else. 

“It’s 3 am,” Charles says. _It’s been a year since Washington,_ he doesn’t say. _A year_ , _and you only decide to show up at a time convenient to you. When you clearly want something out of it._

Erik stiffens. “I know,” he says. “If it isn’t a good time-“

“Erik, it’s 3 am,” Charles says again. “That is never going to be a good time for anybody.” He feels like continuing on this line of thought is probably going to be detrimental for them both, so he refocuses his gaze on the lump of blankets in Erik’s arms, which starts moving. “What’s that? Are you- do you need help? Is that why you’re here?” 

“I can be here for things other than wanting help,” Erik says roughly, and at Charles’ piercing look, deflates. He steps closer to the bed and sits on it, shoulder almost brushing Charles’ nose. This close, his scent is almost overwhelming- pinewood, a hint of lemon, that damn aftershave that he still uses, the one that used to get Charles hot under the collar and also flat on his back. Charles, with all the ferocity of a thousand burning suns, wants so many things so badly he has to bite on his lip to keep silent. 

Instead, he cranes his neck over Erik’s shoulder to peer at the blanket, and stares. If he’d been tired at all, the sight within them shocks the last vestiges of sleep out of him. 

The baby opens his huge brown eyes and stares up at both of them before breaking into a wide, guileless smile, babbling happily. 

“Right then,” Charles says after a while. “I’ll go put the kettle on, shall I?”

*

“You know I’ve been chasing Trask’s other facilities and subsidiaries down,” Erik says, as they sit at the table in the dining hall. It’s four am and the baby, surprisingly enough, isn’t wailing or screaming. What did babies even do other than cry, anyway? He’s good with the students that come to the school, the lost and abandoned ones who hold a kindred spirit to his own, aching for a home or for acceptance. He is not good with something newly formed, so fragile it could be ruined between one breath and the next. Charles makes a mental note to corral Alex or Hank into picking up a parenting book when they next go into town. “I was at the one in Wisconsin. Killed the head scientist in charge immediately, there were at least three dead kids in there.” He’s fiddling with his hands, occasionally sneaking a look at Charles when he thinks Charles isn’t looking, occasionally moving to brush a hand over the baby before withdrawing it again. This Erik is leagues away from the Erik who’d left him at Washington, and Charles can’t figure out if he’s pleased or upset by the change. 

“I didn’t know that,” Charles says, wheeling himself back to the table and handing Erik a cup of coffee. Black and no sugar- after all this time, he still remembers how Erik likes it. That’s bordering on pathetic, if nothing else. 

“He was the only one with no family,” Erik says, cupping his coffee and staring into it like it held all the secrets of the world. “The rest- they all had their parents, or siblings, or someone out there for them. He didn’t have anyone. Both parents murdered by Trask, aunt was the one to sell him out.” 

“Poor darling,” Charles murmurs, brushing his fingers through the baby’s fringe. The baby babbles something nonsensically at him before attempting to grab at his fingers. There’s a Barbie bandaid on the inner skin of his tiny forearm and Charles amuses himself with thinking about how Erik came across Barbie themed bandaids for a split second before frowning. “Did they- they can’t have been testing on him, he’s just a baby!” 

“They were,” Erik says heavily, running a hand through his hair. The helmet sits on the table next to the baby and occasionally he looks at it as if entranced, as all babies do when confronted with something big and shiny. “He’s a telepath. I don’t know where they were planning to go with him, I got so far as the first page of the report and then lost my temper.” 

Charles glances askance at Erik, unsure of how to phrase his next question. “Is there- anything left of the facility?” 

“No,” Erik says brusquely, something guarded and furious in his expression. “And if you‘re going to recriminate me for doing so when babies were being tested on-“

“Don’t be ridiculous, Erik,” Charles retorts, nursing his tea as he tugs his fingers out of the baby’s grip. Even after all this time, too, Erik still thought the worst of the ideals he held. It’s unsurprising, perhaps- Charles thinks that maybe when Erik looks at him, all he sees is a beach and the words _I’m sorry, my friend, but we do not._ “We may never have seen eye to eye but it does not mean I don’t understand your methods.”

Erik drums his fingers on the tabletop and says, “We did once. See eye to eye, I mean.”

Charles ducks his gaze, refusing to fix them on Erik’s as he focuses on the baby instead, how his huge brown eyes take in everything around him with barely hidden wonder. Sometimes, the years of history between the both of them feels like a double edged knife, digging itself deeper and deeper with each passing second. 

“What’s his name?” Charles asks after a while.

“Leonard Roberts.” Erik’s voice is soft, and Charles looks up to see a compassionate, warm glint in his eyes as he reaches towards the baby, tickling his cheek and smiling slightly when the baby lets out a shrill giggle. But of course, Charles thinks, heart racing wildly. Travel alone with a child- a baby, at that- and you were bound to form a connection with them. He’s seen Erik like this before, obviously, with the recruits to the Brotherhood before it had fallen apart, with Alex and Hank and Raven and Sean but not quite in this capacity, this warm glow emanating from Erik and covering everything around him, dulling his jagged edges. 

Charles had hoped to be that for Erik, once. He knows better now. 

“He doesn’t really look like a Leonard, does he?” Charles declares. “More like a… Leo. How does that sound, Leo?” Leo blows a spit bubble at him and laughs, waving his hands in a manner that frankly melts his heart. Leo would definitely be stealing hearts at the mansion, especially from the younger students. 

“I brought him here because you’re the only one I can trust with him,” Erik says. “Look, I know it’s a lot, and you only take on students but-”

“Of course I’m taking him in,” Charles says, gathering Leo up in his arms. “My school has always been open to all mutants, regardless of age.” He fixes Erik with a look, and adds, “I mean it.”

They stare at each other for a few seconds, stretched out and hanging on the precipice of eternity. Erik’s eyes, as always, remain impenetrable to him- even now, with this olive branch, worlds away. _Come back,_ Charles wants to plead but can’t find the pride within himself to. _Listen to me. Come back._

It does not matter if Erik drops one stadium on him, or ten. He has to know, Charles thinks as he watches Erik gaze back, face haunted and fingers almost touching his own, splayed out on the table. He has to know Charles would do anything to bridge the gap that separates them. 

“I have to leave in the morning,” Erik says hoarsely, “more facilities.” He looks like he’s dragging the words out of his sternum by force. Charles tries not to let his face crumple into a look of abject disappointment, and sorely fails.

“Alright, even if you won’t stay, you have to make sure you visit,” Charles says, and nods at the now slumbering baby in his arms. “He’s attached himself to you. Stability in his life, and all that.” 

“I’m sure there would be more stability in his life from me not being in there at all,” Erik says dryly. It’s these words that strangely sting most of all, as Charles thinks of his mother, the sort of individual who took that kind of logic to heart. Her gravestone sits collecting moss out in the backyard, neither Charles nor Raven having visited it in recent years. He doubts they ever will. 

“Surely it’s better for him if you show up sometimes, than not at all,” Charles protests. 

“Charles, I don’t think-”

“Do this for one person, at least, will you?” Charles snaps, acerbic and sharp. Erik blanches, the colour stark white in the dark of the dining hall and Charles regrets his words bitterly, swallowing roughly as an apology sits half formed on his mouth. 

They sit in silence for a while, Charles’ words resting like a heavy weight between them before he sighs. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, lifting the brakes on his chair after securing Leo in his lap. “That was out of line. Third room to your right, second floor.” 

He leaves the hall, not waiting for a response. Erik’s eyes stay on his back like a score waiting to be settled, scorching like the sun.

*

It’s easy taking care of Leo, far too easy that Charles keeps waiting for the other penny to drop. In all honesty, Leo is a very calm and easygoing baby, even if he does never seem to sleep at night. He gurgles happily at visitors, plays quietly with the baby mobile Charles has Hank hastily pre-order from the nearby town, and listens whenever Charles reads out from one of the many baby books he’s dug out of the attic to him. 

“My nanny read these to me,” Charles tells him one day, reading from one labelled _Shelley Goes To The Beach._ He decides to leave out that his mother had often been too drunk to do the same, or that his father had been too busy conducting tests on him and using him as a lab rat to care about Shelley going to the beach. Leo probably won’t be interested in the sordid details of his childhood. “Now that I think about it, there really should be mutant specific baby books. You know, maybe _Shelley Woke Up Hearing Voices In Her Head_ , or something.” 

In response, Leo purses his lips, and then burps sour milk up all over the book. 

Leo is a favourite with the students too, all of those that are here year round at least. Jean Grey and Ororo Munroe, two girls who are themselves at the very young ages of seven and five respectively seem particularly enamoured with him, clamouring to take him from Charles whenever either Alex or Hank is busy and he’s forced to show up to class with Leo sleeping in the baby carrier slung around his shoulder. “He’s so little,” Jean marvels, leaning her head into the carrier and watching Leo snuffle in his sleep. “It’s like he’s a little- a little bean.”

“You were that size too, once,” Charles tells her, to which she wrinkles her nose and shakes her head vigorously. 

Leo becomes a fixture in all of their lives, a point to orbit around, but for no one more so than Charles. Leo is indeed as Charles had initially thought, different from all his students, but in ways Charles had never managed to see coming. Slowly but surely, Leo carves out a home for himself within Charles’ hollowed out heart, taking residence like he’d always planned to be there. Charles looks at the scars in the shapes of track marks on the inside of his little arms, scabbed over and thinks with his heart inside his mouth that he’d quite literally kill for Leo- do for him what he’d do for no one else. Leo is always with him, whether cuddled in his arms or situated very happily in his carrier, and it’s only when Hank points it out that Charles starts to realise the level of attachment between them has gone far beyond that of a carer and his charge. 

“He’s with you, constantly,” Hank says, raising his eyebrows as he nurses his fifth cup of coffee in as many hours. Hank, just like Erik, takes his coffee paint-stripper black. It’s always been amusing to Charles that two men of such different temperaments had the same taste in coffee. Charles had pointed this out to Hank, once, and gotten a look of such abject disgust that he’d regretted saying anything at all. 

“Aw, leave the Prof be, bozo,” Alex says easily, clapping his hand on Hank’s back as he comes striding into the kitchen. “Leo’s a little cutie, aren’t you, Leo?” It had been amusing to see even strong and tough Alex succumb to Leo’s charms, taking him out for walks into town and valiantly trying to teach him to say his name. On the other hand, though, it made perfect sense, watching Alex with little Scott Summers as well. The man was born to be the perfect older brother. Better than Charles had ever been, anyway.

“Do be careful, I just got him to sleep,” Charles says dryly, and then ducks his head to take a look at Leo, who’s still slumbering away. It’s natural for parents, isn’t it, to take their kids out wherever they go? It’s not unnatural for Charles to take Leo whenever he’s decided to try and fail to cook something for himself in the kitchen, teach the younger students, or go for a leisurely stroll in the chair in the front yard, Leo peeking over the sides as Charles would point out the different breeds of trees and occasionally lower his head to kiss the top of-

And then Charles freezes, taking a look at his own inner monologue again. _Parent._

“Don’t call me bozo,” Hank says reflexively. “And I’m not saying it’s bad, it’s just- you know, it’s a different responsibility. Students are one thing-”

“I’m very fond of Jean,” Charles protests. It’s not a strong argument, though, because the knowledge of what Leo has unwittingly become to him courses through his veins, undeniable and fearful. This sweet, sweet boy Erik foisted off on him because he himself had a heart of gold buried under all that steel, and Charles had taken him and made him his. Why hadn’t he _seen_ this coming, Charles thinks, heart racing. 

“You like her, I know, but Leo’s- I don’t know, Leo is different,” Hank says plaintively, spreading his hands out. “Remember yesterday? You couldn’t find him and you almost sent everyone into a meltdown because you started projecting your panic.”

“How was I supposed to know that Ororo and Jean had decided to take him to have a tea party?” Charles demands. Stumbling in on all three of them crowded on the ground with tiny teacups, Leo rolling around on the floor and grabbing his own feet, had been a trip and a half. Charles never wants to experience that sort of fear again. “I thought he’d been kidnapped, or there was an accident, or-”

“Professor,” Hank says, the look on his face patronizingly kind. It rankles at Charles, anyway. 

“Never mind. I don’t want to be having this conversation at-” he checks his watch, spotty with saliva from Leo’s fingers when he’d tried to snatch it off his wrist earlier, “-five am in the morning. I suggest both of you get some sleep.”

Alex makes a face at him. “I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” he jokes, and then yelps when Hank lobs a cracker at him. “Hank! That was my good jacket!”

“Then I worry for what’s your Sunday best,” Hank says flatly. “You look like an extra from Miami Vice.”

Charles wheels away, shaking his head as they continue bickering behind him. Leo cracks open his eyes, his mouth pursing in the way it does just before he starts to cry. “Oh, no you don’t, baby,” Charles admonishes. “You’re going to let me get sleep. Once this week, Leo, please.” He heaves a defeated sigh when Leo ignores his pleas, scrunching up his baby browns and wailing in the kind of manner that’s bound to wake up the whole institute without copious, probably unethical use of Charles’ telepathy. 

*

A month after Erik climbs in through his window and drops a surprise on his lap, Jean comes running into his office. “Professor!” she says, stage-whispering. “Magneto’s on the phone!”

“Were you the one to answer?” Charles asks, alarmed. The newer students know bits and pieces of Cuba and Washington, but not much. Never having experienced both, they know them only as a cautionary tale- what happens when neither humans nor mutants keep themselves in check. 

“Yes,” Jean says, frowning as she skips beside him while he wheels his chair down the hallway. “He sounds mean.” 

Charles bites down on a very ill-timed laugh. He takes the phone, shoos a very curious Jean back towards the other rooms, and speaks into the receiver. “Erik?”

“Charles,” Erik says, sounding heavily relieved. “Was that one of your students? I may have scared her.” 

“You don’t say,” Charles says dryly, thinking about how Jean had described Erik barking into the receiver like a military drill sergeant. “Really, Erik, how long has it been since you’ve talked to another living being?”

“Too long,” Erik admits, and there’s a bulbous weight of guilt that’s immediately settling in Charles’ stomach. This is why they never did and never will work out, he thinks. They somehow, without ever even being consciously aware of it, say the words perfectly designed to cleave the other in half. 

“Well,” Charles says, after the silence starts bordering on uncomfortable. “What did you call for?” 

“I just- I mean, do I need a reason to call?” Erik says, sounding vaguely peeved. 

“A month, Erik,” Charles retorts. God, he sounds like a bereaved wife. “Leo misses you.” Leo’s brain hasn’t been fully formed yet and after the tests his telepathy, Hank had informed Charles apologetically, is a withering thing, broken before it had ever had the chance to be formed. Charles still gets half formed mental impressions from Leo though, sometimes of someone who’s clearly Erik, warm smile on his lips and soft German on his tongue. _“Schatz,”_ these impressions of Erik will say, delivered to Charles on a silver platter as if gift wrapped and ready for his dissection, and Charles will foist off all his classes on Hank or Alex to lock himself in his office and weep until he feels as if his ribs are breaking into two. 

There is a slight pause and then Erik sighs, saying, “I didn’t- I’m in Colorado.” There’s a suspicious sniffle, and Charles’ heart stops before Erik continues. “I didn’t- I couldn’t get to the facility in time. They must have gotten wind of me. The bodies, Charles, _mein gott_ …”

“Oh,” Charles whispers, clutching the receiver so tight he feels it start to crack beneath his grip. He reins in his telepathy before it can start to project, shoring up his shields miles high. “Oh, darling.”

“Charles,” Erik says brokenly. “I can’t do this right. I can’t do anything right. I- I couldn’t- one of them, she was just a girl. Same age as your student.”

“Erik,” Charles says, helpless.

“Tell me how to do this right,” Erik begs. He sounds as if he’s at his wit’s end, as if one wrong word from Charles might knock him over into the abyss. In all their years of acquaintance Charles has never heard him like this- anything less than confident or sure of himself. “Sometimes, I think I could drown.” His voice is raw and against his own will, some tears of Charles’ own fall down his face and onto his lap. They had started on this journey so full of hope, and here they were now- Charles having given up on his pipe dream of the X-Men, Erik starting to see his cause as one he’d already lost.

“You couldn’t have done anything,” Charles says, trying to keep his voice as firm as possible. “Erik, it’s not your fault.”

Erik exhales. “You were so angry with me, in Washington,” he says. “Why aren’t you anymore?” The hidden accusation is there, clear as day. Erik always had been the role model for self flagellation, an art he’d finessed to perfection. 

“I don’t know,” Charles admits truthfully. “I guess I just stopped. Life’s too short for that, you know.” He knows the real reason, though. The real reason being after he’d exhausted the repertoire of verbal abuse he could hurl at Erik inside his head after Cuba, after Washington, all that had remained had been a bone deep ache of longing. He’s physically and emotionally unable to stop loving Erik, like a candle that somehow keeps burning even after all the wax has run out.

They’re silent for a while. Charles lowers his shields and reaches out to Leo, receiving a faint impression of _happy love food_ back. Hank’s attempt at feeding Leo mashed baby food is apparently not going well at all. That will take ages to wash out from his fur, Charles thinks with a snort. 

“Tell me about Leo,” Erik says. “How is he doing? Is he using his telepathy?”

“Tell me you’ll visit him,” Charles parries back instantly.

Erik sighs again, weary. “You drive a hard bargain,” he mutters. “What if I said no?”

“I’m still going to tell you about him, I’m not a monster,” Charles says, amused. “But you really should come home and see him.” 

“I’ll think about it,” Erik says. There’s a long pause before he clears his throat, voice audibly tense. Charles can picture him, back ramrod straight on the edge of the bed, face carefully molded into a blank slate. “Is he the only one who misses me?”

The question shocks Charles to the bone, and he breathes into the receiver for a second, mind completely blank for once. “No, he isn’t,” Charles says after a while. “Now be quiet while I tell you about Leo trying to put Alex’s hair in his mouth.” 

*

“I don’t understand,” Raven says flatly. “You- want me to find his living relatives?”

“Yes,” Charles says impatiently. “Any good uncle, or aunt-” From the carrier, Leo says something unintelligible and Charles bends to kiss his forehead, smiling as Leo laughs up at him. He straightens back up to see Raven fixing him with a soft look. 

“You’re good with him, you know,” Raven says, nodding at Leo, before folding her arms and leaning back, her eyes turning cold. “Which is why I don’t understand why you want to find his relatives, when Erik told you that route was exhausted. What the fuck, Charles?”

“Baby in the vicinity!” Charles hisses instantly, and at Raven’s look, deflates. “Look, Raven, my dearest, best sister-”

“I’m your only sister.”

“I had Brian Xavier as a father,” Charles says bluntly, and winces as Raven pales, her hand coming up to scratch at her brow. Raven had been adopted after Brian’s death but she’d seen the nightmares, the lab equipment in his dreams and Sharon Xavier’s drunken, nonsensical ramblings. “Who saw me only as a mutant and nothing else. And then I had Kurt Marko, who saw me as that little brat he got saddled with when he married my mother for money. How on earth can I be a good father to anyone, Raven, when I never had an ideal to follow?”

Raven softens instantly, leaning forward in her chair. “Charles,” she says gently, reaching for his hand and not flinching when he draws it away. They’ve come a long way, both of them- past the misunderstandings, past the hurt, the guilt and then the regret, past Erik. “Come on, you can’t possibly believe that. Look how good you are with Jean, Ororo, Scott, the younger students. Look how good you are with Leo, already.”

“Of course I’m good with them, they are my students,” he hisses. “But being a father, it’s different and I don’t know if- I don’t know if I-” to his horror, he feels his face crumple.

“Oh, Charles,” Raven sighs, patting her pockets for a tissue and then shrugging when she comes up empty. “Seriously, don’t get snot all over the baby.” 

“Very funny,” he sniffs, wiping at his face. Leo reaches for him, patting his face with a confused look on his face as he babbles and Charles grabs a hold of his hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. 

“If you send that boy to be with his relatives,” Raven says quietly, “he will have a worse childhood than he does with you. I can guarantee that. Remember what it was like with Kurt, with Cain, with your mother?”

“How can it be better than me?” Charles hisses. “I don’t sleep at night. I make my shields so high because I don’t want to project my nightmares at him and make him start crying out of sheer terror. I’m in love with someone who’s in the process of moving on, who won’t even come back even if I ask him to-”

“So it’s about Erik,” Raven says sagely.

When is it not? Charles feels like the past three decades have just been a twisted parody of a solar system, Erik as the sun and him and Raven as the orbiting planets. The difference is that Raven had managed to break away, and she’s the better for it. If Charles were a bigger man, he’d do the same.

But then again, it’s unfair to put this all on Erik. Some of this has to do with Charles, with the parts of him left scarred and torn to bitter pieces by his parents, by Kurt and by Cain. “It’s not about Erik,” Charles sighs. “It’s about me possibly being in dire need of therapy.”

“You’re so dramatic sometimes,” Raven scoffs, crossing one leg over the other. She’s still naked as the day she’s born, taking great care to cause everyone significant discomfort with it. Just the other day Jubilee had walked into a wall on account of staring open-mouthed at her, prompting a hasty trip to the medical wing and Hank giving Raven a dressing down. “You’re a perfectly good father. Look at him- you’re changing his nappy, you feed him daily, and you even figured out yesterday that he was screaming so much because he was teething. That’s a lot more than your father probably ever did, that fucking lunatic.”

“Really, Raven,” Charles snaps. “You know, being a father is a lot more than-”

“Papa!”

“-than just-” Charles trails off, staring down at Leo and freezing completely. He feels his train of thought come to a resounding halt, and he slowly looks up to see Raven stunned as well, her hand over her mouth. 

“Leo, sweetie,” Charles says, trying not to sound like he’d just had the life punched out of him, “say that again?”

“Papa,” Leo says, crystal clear as anything, and smushes his hands onto Charles’ mouth, trying to lift it up in a facsimile of a smile. It becomes clear what he’s attempting to do, the vague impressions of _papa smile want happy_ filtering into his head, and Charles blinks rapidly, suddenly feeling very much overwhelmed as he hugs Leo closer.

“Well,” Raven says after a while, as Charles does his best not to have a meltdown. He’s pretty sure he fails, as he clutches Leo even harder while he cries. “Still want me to look for his relatives?”

*

Leo stays in a metal crib Charles had very mysteriously found one day deposited in his study with no note, right beside Charles’ bed. Charles suspects it might take him months, if not years before he can move Leo to a separate room- the anxiety of possibly waking up to Leo being in danger and not reaching him in time overriding the need to have his own space. 

These days- very much unlike those first few months after Cuba- it just takes him a second to transfer himself to the chair and wheel himself to the crib, picking Leo up and rocking him gently. Therefore he can’t very well be faulted for laying in bed and cursing everything in existence when Leo’s wailing pierces the silence of the room, jolting him to wakefulness. 

He’s just decided to finally hoist himself up when the cries audibly peter off, and Charles’ eyes immediately open in alarm. He shoots up and turns his head, staring at Erik who’s equally looking like a deer caught in headlights, helmet nowhere to be seen and Leo snuggled up in his arms. 

“You know,” Charles says eventually, when he’s able to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth, “we have a front door for a reason.”

“You were supposed to be asleep,” Erik grunts. He adjusts his hold on Leo before approaching the bed, sitting at the edge of it. “I’ll be- I’m not staying for long, anyway. Just an hour or two.”

Charles considers telling him to give up the ridiculous facade of pretending he can’t stay in the mansion, considers using his infamous bluntness to blurt out exactly what he thinks about Erik avoiding _this-_ him and Leo and the notion of home- before giving it up as a bad job. He knows the amount of good Erik is doing, setting out to hunt the facilities down. “If you ever change your mind-”

“I won’t,” Erik says, but one hand rests on the bed, the pinky a hair’s breadth away from his own. It’s the little things that matter when it comes to them, the subtle hints Erik gives out that signals at the fact that whatever lies between them may yet be salvageable. “Are you wearing my shirt?”

“No,” Charles lies. Almost on cue, Leo shifts again and starts to wail, and Charles sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “He’s teething, the poor dear,” he murmurs, smoothing a hand over the back of Leo’s head. “I’ll get the cloth, it’s in the fridge.”

“I can-” 

“I’m not a fucking invalid, Erik, it will take me less than a second,” Charles snaps, aggravated, and then regrets it when Erik looks hurt. He keeps blessedly silent, though, keeping a watchful eye on Charles as Charles wheels himself out of the door. 

Charles returns to the room, teething cloth in hand to find Leo sobbing softly into Erik’s shoulders, clearly too tired to scream anymore. Erik’s whispering softly, and the sight of Leo’s head resting on his broad shoulder makes something in Charles’ heart jolt, too large to put a name to. Against the moonlight they make for an attractive, alluring silhouette in the dark of the room and Charles suddenly _wants,_ so much so that his lungs feel five sizes too small. 

“Here, Leo, bite this love,” he says, wheeling up to them and transferring himself to the bed before gently fitting the cloth inside Leo’s mouth. “That feels better, sweetie, doesn’t it?”

Leo stares at him, eyes large and watery, and Charles’ heart melts. If he’d been hoping to hide the extent of what he’s begun to feel for Leo from Erik, it’s a frightfully moot point now. He can feel Erik’s eyes on the side of his face, keen and severe, and he clears his throat. 

“If you have him in hand, I’ll be dropping off,” Charles says hastily. “Sleepless nights, you know how it is-”

“You’re good with him,” Erik says quietly, and the words shoot straight to his heart. “Better than I would have ever been.”

“Don’t put yourself down, old friend,” Charles sighs, laying back on the bed again. From here the suit molding itself to Erik’s skin looks that much tighter, and Charles coughs, looking away. It wouldn’t do to create an embarrassing situation for the both of them, the likes of which they definitely won’t come back from. “You’re an excellent f- an excellent guardian too.”

“Yes, but you’re a fucking natural,” Erik says, sounding resentful and frustrated. “It’s like you were born for this.”

“I’m not,” Charles says, his eyes drifting close. “I was making his formula the other day and accidentally put in coffee powder. Alex caught it in time and had to pour it all out. I make many mistakes, Erik.” He cracks his eyes open an infinitesimal amount, and watches Erik clearly suppress a smile, amused. “Does that make you want to take Leo away?”

“Never, my friend,” Erik grins. 

They’re silent for a while, before Erik clears his throat. “My mother used to sing me a lullaby,” he says, rough and awkward. “Do you mind if I-”

“Go right ahead,” Charles says, yawning widely. 

The lullaby sounds soft on Erik’s tongue, the German consonants unbearably gentle on the ears. Erik has a good voice, Charles thinks, and wonders why Erik’s never sung for him before. He’ll have to bully Erik into coming up for karaoke night at the mansion- Scott is convinced no one can out sing him, and an ego that size needs a brutal beat down. 

That’s his last coherent thought, before he falls asleep. He wakes up in the morning to Leo slumbering in the crib and the ghost of a kiss lingering on his cheek, rough and yet, light. 

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw for canon typical violence, internalised albeism, illegal experimentation on children

The topic of Leo’s weakened telepathy is sensitive in the mansion, especially after all its inhabitants had been forced to accept that there was no recovering or healing it- whatever those scientists at the facility had done, it was going to stick. 

Charles hadn’t wanted to believe it, at first. “Surely there’s something we can all do,” he had argued, bouncing Leo up and down and watching him giggle, curls flopping over his forehead. He’d been very quiet for the brain scan, eyes large and watery like he’d been counting down every second til Hank would be releasing the electrodes from his forehead again. Charles’ heart had broken, having to put him through the horror of scans and hospital testing all over again. It was likely going to be a serious problem for the future, one that Charles wasn’t willing to visit anytime soon. “It can’t just be gone- you can’t get rid of a mutation, it doesn’t work that way.” Charles should know. What good is his multiple doctorates for, then, if they won’t even let him help his boy?

“It’s not gone, per say,” Hank argues, shaking his head as he stares at Leo sadly. “Just- eroded a little. Think- think of it as your spinal cord injury, Professor, albeit a less serious extent. It wasn’t a clean break, so you lost all motor function but you still retained some basic function, correct?”

Charles had nodded cautiously. Drawing a parallel between his own injury and Leo’s, of all things, calms him down. If he himself wasn’t yet broken, there was no question as to why Leo should be. 

“It’s the same with his mutation, except- less severe,” Hank had said, smoothing a hand over the back of Leo’s head. “Some of that telepathy has been stripped away, it’s a deadened muscle now. Prior to the kidnaping, he would have been an omega level telepath, same as you and Jean. Now-” he shrugs, looking deeply apologetic. “He’s still powerful, make no mistake. But it’s undeniable- he’s lost a bit of it.”

“And can there be nothing we can do?” Charles says desperately. Even as he says it though, he already knows about the futility of asking for help. Telepathy, after all, deals in matters of the mind- very much different from your run of the mill physical mutations. It was a fickle thing, and the fact that the scientists had managed to affect it somehow- Charles’ blood chills at that. What would they have done, he wonders, if they’d known their tests had wrought such a consequence? 

“I can- I can conduct some tests, I suppose-”

“No, it’s fine, Hank,” Charles sighs, resisting the urge to scrub a hand over his own face in consternation. “I need to- I need to talk to Erik about this.” 

“He’s still a telepath, Professor,” Hank says carefully. “I know he’s been- communicating with you telepathically. He can still do that.” 

“It’s not about power, Hank, it’s-” Charles sighs again, thinking of how best to explain the turmoil he was feeling as he looked down at Leo who was now sucking his own thumb in blissful ignorance. How best to explain that it wasn’t even about power- Charles would not wish omega level telepathy on his worst enemy because god knows the pain of it is something even Charles in his ripe old age of mid thirty struggles with, living through holidays shut in with his shields shored up so high he’d live the rest of the week with a debilitating migraine because he risked the danger of drifting away with the thousands of mental impressions and thoughts and voices and screams filtering through his head like a constant, cacophony of feedback at a splitting and shrill volume. 

Maybe he would have had to live a life full of pain resulting from the use of his own power, distrust from his fellow mutants, self loathing at himself for being considered different even amongst his own kin, but Leo at least deserved the opportunity to have a chance at a life like that. “A mutation,” Charles says haltingly, “isn’t just or only power. It’s your identity, it’s as inseparable from you as- as your ethnicity or sexuality. It’s a part of you, and these- these people, they took it away. They stole part of that, they’ve killed him bit by bit. He deserved- he deserved-” Charles swallows, voice thick with tears and his cheeks feeling heated with a sudden, fierce rush of anger. 

Leo blinks at him, confused. “Papa?” He asks, slapping the side of his cardigan covered arm with his fist. 

“It will be okay, baby,” Charles says, swallowing. He bounces him in his lap, kissing the side of his head and burying his nose in his curls. Through it all he feels Hank’s gaze on him, devastated and shocked into silence. “We will get them for this. It will be okay. I will make it right, I promise you.”

If Charles is angry, Erik is almost incandescent with rage. Charles avoids the topic for as long as he possibly can, until Erik demands to know the details of what, exactly, is going on with Leo’s telepathy. Charles tells him, and thinks he can almost feel the molecules in the air around him vibrate with the force of it, as Erik says furiously, “They did  _ what?” _

“It’s not supposed to be possible,” Charles says helplessly, clenching his fist on his unfeeling thigh and feeling the nail bite into the palm, “but it is. There’s- there’s nothing that can be done about it. Hank and I have discussed, and-”

“I’ll kill them all,” Erik says savagely. “I’ll leave nothing behind.”

“Erik,” Charles says, soft. 

Erik scoffs. “You can’t possibly still be defending them,” he says derisively. There’s a thump in the background and a few curses uttered in German, before he continues, tight with anger, “they’ve done nothing but hurt us, time and time again, and yet you still want to take the route of cowards-”

“Because the alternative worked so well,” Charles snaps. “Because it worked so well in Cuba, and then with Kennedy, and with Washington, and with that horrid future we were shown by Logan. Erik, violence has never been the answer, we  _ have  _ to think about this.” He thinks of Erik charging into a facility now, angry and careless because of it, and a cold shiver of terror sidles into the base of his spine, right above the scar of the bullet wound. He can’t lose Erik to this, he  _ can’t _ .

“How can you be calm?” Erik asks. “Even now, about this- Charles, they ruined him. He’s not- he was supposed to be powerful-”

“And is that all he is to you?” Charles snaps. “Just a degree of power? Nothing more, nothing less?” He thinks of Leo, his sweet boy who screams at night with the force of his nightmares, who loves to chew on Jean’s auburn hair, who hates the store bought baby food they buy from town but loves mashed up carrots, who loves seeing everyone happy and sends out impressions of joy and love every few minutes because that is just him, even at such a young and tender age- joyous and cheerful. 

“Of course not,” Erik says, subdued. “But his telepathy-”

“I didn’t know you to be such an advocate for telepathy, Erik,” Charles retorts, sharp and acerbic. “You never did grant me that same courtesy.” Almost as soon as the words leave his mouth he regrets it. There’s a shocked sort of silence on Erik’s end as if he doesn’t know how to respond- probably, Charles thinks, because he’s never actually brought it up before, how Erik’s shutting him out hurt like a fine edged dagger to the chest, sharpened to perfectly defined precision- before he huffs out a sigh, soft and regretful.

With his words, the fight peters off, leaving both of them drained and almost mindlessly exhausted. There’s nothing else to do for Charles but mutter a goodbye and hastily leave the call as Erik starts to speak, covering his face with his hands and contemplating the pros and cons of having a silent meltdown. 

It’s perhaps a relief when Alex comes round the corner, holding Leo in his arms. “Hey, Prof, if your call’s ended- what’s the matter?” His eyes shift to the receiver and narrow dangerously, almost visibly jumping to the conclusions. “Did he-”

“Oh, Alex, you know how we are,” Charles says tiredly. He stretches his hands out, and Leo immediately goes to him, tucking his head into the crook in his shoulder and whining softly. He presses a kiss into the brown curls, feeling them tickle his nose. Almost everyone in the institute- especially the girls- is obsessed with the softness of Leo’s hair, how tender and gentle it feels. “Didn’t want to go to sleep, did we?”

“He’s being fussy,” Alex says, still warily eyeing the receiver. “Asked for his papa. Charles, are you sure-”

“I’ll read you a bedtime story, my darling,” he says, and Leo says something that might be unintelligible but could also be construed as a poor pronunciation of  _ story _ . Charles prefers to go with the latter. “Alex, really. It’s fine, Erik is just…” he purses his lips, wondering how to finish his sentence. Erik is just- what? Remarkably prickly? Unwilling to shift his stance the slightest, even now refusing to see the bigger picture? Letting his emotions rule his head and probably getting himself damn near in danger, too? Still exactly the man Charles will always be in love with?

Alex crosses his arms, looking mightily unimpressed. “Oh, we all know what Erik is like,” he says. “I know you think you’re not doing a great job with Leo- all lies, by the way. But imagine what he would have been like with Magneto. A mini genocidal maniac- just fun times in the family all year round.” 

“He’s a good man, Alex,” Charles says reproachfully. He can’t bring himself to reprimand him too much, though- he sometimes thinks if Erik had stayed, if Cuba hadn’t happened the way it had, Alex would have probably looked up to Erik for guidance instead of himself. That, after all, was one of Erik’s many flaws- seen with himself, with Raven, with Alex and Leo and god knows who else. He just constantly and massively underestimated the impact he left on people.

“Might be a good man,” Alex says, surly. “Sure has a hell of a time showing it, though.”

*

About a week after that disastrous phone call, Jean comes up to him with a relatively strange request. “Professor?” She asks, poking her head into the office and shifting on her feet. 

“Jean,” Charles says in surprise, straightening up from the desk. Even though the institute is built on relative wealth, he still finds that he has to manage his finances. Looking through them for four hours straight has been putting an ache in the back of his head not unlike the one he usually gets from Cerebro. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing,” Jean says brightly. “It’s just- can we go to the mall?”

“Of course,” Charles says, blinking. His reading glasses slide down his nose, and he pushes them back up again. From his crib in the corner of the office, Leo giggles a little before babbling again. Charles sends him a wave of love and gets it back, strong and confident, smiling before he fixes his gaze back on Jean. “Just get Alex to go with you.”

“Yes, Professor, but I was wondering-” she bites her lip, twisting her fingers in her shirt before saying out in a tumbled rush, “I was kind of- wondering-”

Charles waits, setting down his pen. When it came to Jean, patience was the better part of valor. 

“If you’d go to the mall with us,” the girl says, biting her lip nervously. “And- and we could make it, like, a trip! You could bring Leo!” Leo, at the sound of his name, perks up and uses the bars of his cribs to haul himself up in an upright position. The first time he’d done that, Charles had lavished him in kisses and hugs and then wheeled right over to the phone to call Erik immediately. Erik, who had been in the middle of something that very suspiciously sounded like it involved someone getting beaten up on the other end, had stopped right in the middle of whatever he was doing to crow about how strong Leo was going to be. 

With their ongoing not-fight, their nightly calls abandoned in the wake of Charles abruptly hanging up on him, the memory of that feels bittersweet. Charles is no stranger to being at a stand-off with Erik, both sides stinging with the aftereffects of their argument rankling at them. What he is a stranger to is needing Erik despitewanting to bash his head in. Not just wanting Erik- that’s always a given- but feeling almost desperate with the intensity of needing him close, knowing that without him he and Leo were going to be adrift at sea. 

_ Imagine what he would have been like with Magneto,  _ Alex had said. He doesn’t have to imagine, because the sporadic bits of time Erik spends with Leo betrays how good of a father, how loving and compassionate and whole he could possibly be. If he would just-

“Professor?” Jean asks.

“Right, yes,” Charles says, shaking himself mentally. He looks down at the form, frowning. He still has a few more documents to go through but it’s a Friday, he’s probably going to have the entire weekend off. “I suppose we could push these off-”

“Come on, Professor,” Jean whines. “It’s going to be so fun!” 

To give credit to Jean, it does start out a little bit fun. The spectacle in Washington had meant that mutants were- not accepted, not exactly, but perhaps viewed with a smidgen less fear. Ororo and Jean immediately dash off to a store selling toys, Jubilee trailing behind them in an effort to look slightly cooler. Leo’s happy and projecting his happiness with such a bubbly innocent intensity that it in turn, puts everyone around him into a good mood. The younger children shriek and run around, being careful not to stray too far from Charles and Alex. Alex in the meantime, talks to Charles about his relationship woes- he and Hank had started dating a month after his return from Vietnam and if Alex was to be trusted, Hank was starting to take all their time together for granted.

“It’s just stupid,” Alex says grumpily, stomping his feet as he walks beside Charles down the hallway outside a series of shops. Leo’s on Charles’ lap, staring over the handles of the wheelchair at Charles’ forearms as he works the wheels over. “You know, I asked him for a date tomorrow- just a simple one, I even had a reservation- and he said he needed to work on Cerebro. Cerebro!”

“Give him time,” Charles says sagely, as they stop outside a store selling ornaments. Mostly metal, at first glance. “He’ll come round, see what he’s missing.”

“We keep doing that,” Alex says frustratedly, wrapping his arms around himself and looking genuinely upset. Charles makes a note to himself to talk to Hank later- he hadn’t even known it had gotten this bad. “Waiting for them to get their head out of their asses.”

“Collective hazard of being in love with emotionally constipated men,” Charles jokes, and gets a half hearted smile for his trouble. 

“Alex,” Scott demands, running up to them, “Alex, c’mon, there’s a bike here and it’s really cool-”

“Go on, Alex,” Charles encourages, waving him away when Alex looks back at him, hesitant. “We’ll be fine.”

“Any trouble, just…” Alex wiggles his fingers, laughing at Charles’ eye roll before running off after Scott. 

The store clearly hasn’t been made exactly accessible for wheelchair users, with narrow aisles and the shelves teetering with ornaments and metal tools, stacked in a haphazard manner. Still, there’s something about the little metal figurines- one in the shape of a swan, another in the shape of a star- that reminds Charles, unsurprisingly, of Erik. As it always does these days, his mind drifts again to the man UN question. What would Erik be doing, now? Wallowing in his motel room, no doubt- either hatching new plots for the facility in Michigan that he’s breaking into next, or talking to Raven about the possibility of reforming the decimated Brotherhood, like Raven has hinted at in her last few visits to the mansion. Either way, certainly not thinking of Charles. 

“Need some help?” A voice from the side calls out, and Charles jumps in his chair. He turns to see a man decked out in simple khakis and a button down, hair done in a military cut and eyes like hard, glittering diamonds. 

“I- no, I apologise, I’m taking up space, aren’t I?” Charles says awkwardly, cursing his sudden inability to talk to strangers. “I’ll just, um-”

“Hey, hey, relax,” the man says, holding his hands up with the palms facing outward, laughing lightly. “It’s just- you looked a little lost there. And these shops, I mean- hard to navigate them, right?” He nods at Leo, who’s staring up at the man, nonplussed. “Cute kid.”

“Thank you,” Charles says, surprised. The man’s mind is surprisingly blank- as if he’s trying hard to keep any thoughts from crossing his mind at all. Ten years ago and this wouldn’t have bothered Charles; now, Charles feels unsettled, his hackles rising. “Leo, baby, say hi.”

Leo blinks at him and then whines, turning his face and hiding it in Charles’ chest. It’s uncharacteristic, too- Leo usually has such a wide smile for strangers, toothless and adorable and making them coo at him. 

“He’s more sociable than this, usually,” Charles says, slightly embarrassed. “Well, I’d best be going, if-”

“Mother not in the picture, then?” the man asks, raising an eyebrow and giving no sign of hearing Charles’ poor excuse for a retreat. There are impressions racing through the man’s mind, now- pity at the wheelchair, which is by now something Charles is unfortunately used to, a sense of friendliness, of wanting to extend a hand to the baby, and-

Attraction, to Charles.  _ Huh _ , Charles thinks, withdrawing so hastily the man flinches. 

“She isn’t, no,” Charles laughs, shakily, running a hand through his hair and raising his eyebrows slightly when the man’s gaze follows it. It’s not as if he’s ever thought of himself as particularly unattractive, but after the paralysis it’s been admittedly hard to get anyone to fall for him on a superficial basis. And then there was Erik, who’d only deigned to fuck him on the plane when his legs had been working. This- having the man’s eyes on him, tracking the movements of his hands and the way the collar of his own shirt sags at his collarbone, smiling slightly- it is a welcome surprise. 

_ Or a distraction _ , a voice that sounds like Erik snidely whispers.  _ Funny, isn’t it? He conveniently starts thinking about being attracted to you just as you’re about to leave. _

Charles tells the voice to shut up.

“Died in, um, in a car accident, you see,” Charles lies effortlessly, bouncing Leo a little in his lap. “The same accident what gave me… this.”

“That’s a relief,” the man says, crooking a smile, and then his eyes widen in horror. The flashes of emotion, however brief, make him more approachable, and Charles thaws a little. “I mean, not that it’s a relief you’re- but I mean, nothing wrong with- I’m bungling this up, aren’t I?” he asks, resigned, as Charles coughs slightly, feeling mightily amused.

“Not yet,” he says, feeling Leo reach up and tug at a lock of his hair resting on his shoulder. He extricates the hair out of Leo’s fist, smiling when Leo grumbles slightly. “Give it a few seconds, you’re not at the part where you imply my dick doesn’t work because I’m in a chair.” He blinks, suddenly stunned by his own lack of a filter. “I- that is-“

“Duly noted,” the man says, his eyes twinkling. They’re almost the same colour as Erik’s, a strange green and blue mixed together. No one, after all, will be able to replicate the unusual and unique shade that makes up Erik’s eyes. “So will it be taken as a further insult, if I ask you out for coffee?”

“I- you don’t even know my name yet,” Charles says helplessly, and then adds uselessly, “it’s Charles.”

“Didn’t need to,” the man says, grinning. “You have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever had the fortune to see. I doubt I’ll be able to remember it. You’ll have to remind me again over coffee.” Smooth talking to a near dangerous degree, then- despite himself, Charles feels his own cheeks flushing. 

“I’m with my s-” he blinks, an instinct that yet again sounds suspiciously like Erik’s telling him to hide the fact that he’s with his students. There’s a pit in his stomach forming, made of guilt at considering this man’s offer when he has Erik- but does he, really? If he had Erik, Erik would be the one walking beside him and pointing out how adorable of a baby Leo was being, not this man with his gorgeous eyes and friendly smile. If Erik had any inclination of still being in love with him, his presence would be felt by Charles instead of being clearly absent. 

“I’m with my friends,” Charles amends. “But I’d love to have coffee with you, sometime. If you have a number…”

“Of course, here’s my number,” the man says, lowering himself to his knees and reaching into his pocket for a pen. He takes Charles’ hand into his own and the impressions of attraction grow stronger- Charles flushes again, and tries desperately to keep calm. It wouldn’t do to reveal his telepathic nature.

The man straightens up and Charles takes a look at the number on his hand. “Nathaniel Essex,” he reads out aloud. “I’ll see you around, then.”

The man smiles at him, a flash of something entering and leaving his eyes so swiftly that if Charles had blinked, he would have missed it. “I’m certain you will.”

*

It takes a week before he hears of Erik again. Actually, that isn’t technically true- he  _ sees _ Erik again, sees him splashed across the television screen, ripping a train to pieces.

“That mad motherfucker,” Alex swears, not even flinching as Charles tells him sharply to watch his language around the children. “Look at that- did he seriously cave that  _ entire _ carriage in?!”

The footage is grainy, but one thing is clear- Erik isn’t wearing his helmet anymore. He’s gorgeous, in a long black coat and the beginnings of a beard covering his jaw and upper lip. Charles watches him crush the head of the carriage and lead the captured mutants out- all impossibly young children, of course, because why wouldn’t they be- and swallows roughly, unsure if the heat beneath his collar is of arousal or anger. 

The footage does more than make Charles’ right hand a little more furiously and reluctantly busy than it normally is. The footage actually gets Erik fame not unlike the one Raven had gotten after Washington- apparently, the image of leading kids out to safety does wonders for a man’s publicity. 

The authorities are quite predictably, unable to trace the origins of that train and its destination. “It’s a blatant cover up,” Hank tells Charles as they receive the news over a radio broadcast, “and it would be plain idiocy to pretend otherwise.” He’s gnashing his teeth together, looking irate and like he wants to be with Erik, destroying the facilities himself. Charles can’t find it in himself to find any fault in that- he’s starting to feel the yearning to do the same, as he thinks of Leo and his affected telepathy, large doe eyes watering up at the sight of hospital equipment. 

There’s one good thing that comes out of the whole mess, at least. Congress ends up deciding to pardon Erik of his crimes after a series of protests of Magneto’s most ardent supporters- as well as an impassioned letter written in by Charles to the New York Times, arguing in favour of granting him immunity. If there had been any doubts amidst his students regarding the exact nature of his relationship with Erik, they’re probably all gone now. 

Erik finally calls him about another week after the incident, and says, “Thank you for what you said.”

“You’re welcome,” Charles says stiffly, and keeps silent. In the wake of his frosty silence it doesn’t take long for Erik to snap.

“What is  _ wrong _ with you?” Erik demands, voice enraged as if he’s considering reaching through the receiver and wringing Charles’ neck. “Is there no pleasing you? I thought you’d be happy-”

_ “Happy?”  _ Charles shrieks into the phone. From the corner of his eye he can see Hank ushering the kids back into their rooms, their curious heads poking out. Another one for the gossip grapevine of the school, he thinks. “You thought I’d be happy that you were what, risking yourself to prove a fucking point?”

“I’m not proving anything-”

“I get it,” Charles hisses, his words uncontrollable now. The fear that had been simmering below the surface at the thought of Erik, unprotected with that helmet in the train, bubbles up unexpectedly and turns his mouth sour. “I get it, you’re trying to prove to me that, that you trust me but just because I said something in the heat of the moment-” unbidden, Charles thinks of the way the train had careened off after Erik had landed on the grassy plains below with the last kid in his arms, how it had exploded into a ball of fire. What if Erik had been caught inside? What if a stray ceramic bullet had hit Erik’s head? Was there not a single lick of sense in that noggin of his?

“Often, it’s the things we say in the heat of the moment that ring true,” Erik says, subdued.

“Spare me your wisdom,” Charles snarls. “You- you fucking  _ prick.  _ You don’t, you just don’t think, do you?” His breathing comes in faster and faster, rapid like the beginnings of a panic attack. “I was in the wrong, alright? I shouldn’t have- you were right to be suspicious of my- you were always right, I shouldn’t have-”

“No, Charles, I-” Erik growls, cursing in German. “Mein Gott, Charles, calm  _ down.” _

Charles presses his knuckles over his eyes, pressing down down down until there’s a starburst of pain beneath his eyelids. He feels like he could either scream or vomit or cry, or some disgusting combination of the three. The abject fear he’d felt registering what Erik had done- 

“Are you breathing?” Erik asks. His voice is purposefully gentle now, as if he’s calming a skittish, scared animal, as if he was another one of those scared mutants getting saved from the facility. The thought of it just makes Charles more resentful. “In, out.”

“No,” Charles says automatically, but inhales once, and then exhales. The frantic rabbiting of his heart slows down bit by bit. “Fuck you,” he adds as an afterthought. 

There is a pause, the only sounds that of Charles breathing slowly and Erik on the other side, matching his own to it. It’s strangely comforting, and Charles feels his eyes prickle. He can’t remember a time now, where all he’d felt around Erik was warmth and comfort- but oh, how he wants to. “I did that for you,” Erik says finally, hoarse with exhaustion and something else Charles can’t name. “I left the helmet behind for  _ you _ . You told me I never- I never- and I  _ listened.  _ I’ve always trusted you, Charles.”

“You have a funny way of showing it,” Charles mutters. He feels wrong-footed, somehow, in the wake of the confession. This hadn’t been foreseen- he’d expected Erik to bowl over Charles’ feelings on the subject, act like it didn’t matter. 

“You don’t think I do and that’s fine, I can live with that,” Erik continues, sounding as wretched as he could possibly get, “but don’t you dare say I view your- your mutation as something horrifying, something to be scared of. Your telepathy  _ is _ beautiful.”

“You say that,” Charles says incredulously, unable to believe what Erik is spouting now, “because Leo is a telepath. Erik- you’ve been terrified of me rooting out your deepest secrets since day one. You’ve never seen me as beautiful, you’ve seen me as a loaded gun waiting to be fired.”  _ How long,  _ he doesn’t say into the receiver,  _ til you give this charade up for both of our sakes?  _

“This can’t possibly be what you believe,” Erik whispers. “Charles- I l-”

“Stop,” Charles snaps. “Stop, just stop-”

“If you were in front of me I’d let you in,” Erik continues to whisper. Each word lands like a gunshot, raking across his skin and leaving bloody streaks.  _ You fucking sadist, _ Charles thinks at Erik, clenching his fist so hard he can feel the nail starting to break skin. “There is a tower in my head. It’s organised, every memory where it’s supposed to be. I’d let you tear it down. I’d let you tear it all down, if you have to, to finally convince yourself that I  _ love _ you and I love every part of you, your brilliant mind and all that you have to offer.”

Charles is silent, his heart thudding in his throat. He can’t bring himself to believe in a single word that Erik says. He closes his eyes, and all that he sees is Erik, gorgeous in the throes of his mutation, clenching his hand into a fist and bringing the train to a screeching halt.

“All your love,” Charles whispers back, “and yet you refuse to come back.”

“You don’t want me there,” Erik says, the words matter of fact. As if its already the given truth, that Charles doesn’t want him by his side. “Not really.” 

“I want to talk to you about what new words Leo learned today,” Charles says abruptly. “Can I?”

“Charles-”

“Please,” Charles adds. 

It’s the plea that seems to undo Erik. He inhales audibly over the receiver, a single shaky and tremulous breath, before he says, “Of course.” And then there’s a pause, before he adds, as if the word is a finely tuned bullet designed to carve its way into the torn up crevisses of Charles’ heart, “liebling.”

“It’s been so long since you called me that,” Charles says, his voice little more than a breath. Before Erik can respond, he clears his throat and continues, “well, you’d be very pleased to know that Leo actually learned how to say fuck from none other than Alex.”

*

The conversation shifts something in them. Charles scrubs Nathaniel Essex’s number off his palm, guilt stricken and the echoes of Erik’s voice ringing in his ears. He orders a children’s book in German the very next day, and when it arrives he points out the words to Leo. 

“Here-  _ Vati,” _ he says, and carefully, gently, transmits an image of Erik to Leo. Leo startles, and then slaps the book with his hands, shrieking. There’s a faint memory in his head now, of Erik in the bath with him, handing him a rubber duck and gently soaping up his hair with careful, big hands. “There you go,” Charles says, pleased. 

“You’re a mess,” Raven proclaims, when she sees him next and gets the whole sorry tale out of him somehow. “This is your problem, Charles- you’re a hypocrite.”

“Tell me how you really feel,” Charles says, while Alex chokes on his biscuit off to the side. 

“No, Charles- see, you’re always like this. You want things to go your way but god forbid someone wants something from you-”

“Because of course I told you about Erik for you to bring up every single one of my moral failings,” Charles retorts. Alex coughs again and tip toes over, lifting Leo from his carrier whose bottom lip has started to tremble suspiciously. Raven waits until they’re out of the room, and then reaches over the table, grabbing Charles’ hand in her own. 

“Charles,” she says quietly, “I’m not telling you this to fight with you.”

“Sure feels like it,” Charles mutters, petulant. 

“You just- you’re sabotaging this for yourself, again, before you can have it,” Raven rants, keeping a vice grip on Charles’ hand. “It’s like you close yourself off on purpose. You want Erik to come back, but god forbid he start acting like he actually wants you for yourself. You’re a walking contradiction.”

“Not walking,” Charles jokes, and then deflates at Raven’s glare. “Sorry.”

“Remember that summer? Just before the start of high school?” Raven asks, quiet. 

Of course Charles remembers. The worst summer of his life, at least before the years that followed Cuba. Every second was a waking nightmare, caught either between Cain’s fists, Kurt’s cold condescension, or those memories of his father saying  _ lie back and be good for papa, now think very hard of what you heard just now. _ That, if he remembers correctly, had been the start of Raven telling him she didn’t want him in her head again.

“You kept having those nightmares,” Raven continues. “And you never let anyone help. It was like you were fucking allergic to the idea of it, that people could help you unconditionally.”

Charles remembers, all right. Charles remembers, remembers waking up with a snap, pushing a tearful Raven away, shouting,  _ just stop! Get away, away, away, away, AWAY- _

“It’s like you love people,” Raven says, and god but Charles’ entire kingdom for her to stop talking, stop driving home the point repeatedly like a hammer,“but you don’t want them to love you back.”

“I  _ want  _ Erik to come home,” Charles protests. Softly, this time, as he keeps a keen ear out for Leo. The sobs have all but disappeared, Alex’s soft crooning and a rambling voice that can only belong to Scott emanating from the other rooms. 

“Just for Leo?” Raven questions, eyes sharp. “Or for yourself, too?”

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Charles says sullenly, picking at a scab on the back of his palm. Charles knows better- Charles sees, in his own mind, Erik moving back and Erik being such a good father for Leo, Erik resenting him and resenting his telepathy and his idealism until it gnaws on them both, Erik leaving again because love isn’t enough for them, how can love be enough when Erik doesn’t fucking  _ like  _ him? When Erik looks at him and sees a naive man with too much power on his hands than he has any right to have?

Erik’s reticence to move back is understandable. It’s welcome, now, in fact. Maybe Charles would have preferred him here, before- but Erik has made his stand clear, before, and now Charles will too. 

“It doesn’t have to be as complicated as you’re making it out to be,” Raven says. 

“No,” Charles conscends. “But it’s not as easy as you think it is, either.” Nothing ever is, when it comes to Erik. 

*

Of course, a month later it all comes to a very drastic head. 

The day gets off to a frankly rubbish start. Charles wakes up, anxious and on his last nerve because Erik had not checked in at all during the previous week. He’s late to lessons and unnaturally snappish with students, and then feels absolutely horrible about it when he reduces Kurt Wagner- a young teleporter Raven had dropped off with no prior warning on his doorstep, the parentage of whom he’d always harboured suspicions about but never actually bothered investigating- to tears. The coffee’s all out and someone on their schedule has forgotten to do the shopping and to make matters worse, Hank and Alex are having a fight and absolutely refuse to be within five steps of each other. 

“I’ll talk to him over my dead body,” Alex snaps when Charles approaches him in the evening to talk about it, and at Charles’ look, deflates. “Look, I can’t always be the first one extending my hand, alright?”

“Fine,” Charles says resignedly, thinking that surely he and Erik hadn’t been this troublesome, “but in the meantime, could you just-” they are both abruptly cut off by the phone ringing shrilly from its handset, the sound piercing and foreboding. 

“I’ll get it,” Charles sighs, and goes to pick it up. “Xavier’s Institute, we are currently closed-”

“Charles  _ Xavier,” _ a man’s voice drawls, and Charles blinks. “I should have recognised you, you know.”

“Sorry,” Charles says, careful to keep his voice level. “I don’t-”

“Nathaniel Essex,” the man replies, and Charles’ heart gives a lurch. “We met at the mall, I gave you my number. You must have wiped it off by accident.”

“Of course,” Charles lies. Jesus, he thinks, this guy is intent. He attempts to wave Alex off who’s giving him a look full of barely guarded suspicion, and Alex makes his jaw more resolute, parking himself on a stray chair by the receiver. “I’m- really sorry. It’s just- very busy, you know, with the…” he lets his voice trail off. 

“With your school for young mutants, of course,” Essex replies, laughing. “Very impressive, Xavier. Is it completely hopeless, or shall I extend my offer of coffee again?”

“I-” Charles hesitates, thinking of Erik. Erik, who’d gone suddenly AWOL, whose refusal to return his calls is starting to worry him, starting to make him think that his luck with freeing the inhabitants of the facilities has finally run out. Erik, who has been telling him that he loves him with every phone call, who doesn’t ask Charles to say it back, who keeps holding himself back from stepping foot into the mansion because he’s playing a different game than Charles is, a game that Charles himself gave up on when he’d seen the debris of the ruined stadium crush his unfeeling legs. “I don’t think I’m-”

“Come on, Xavier,” Essex scoffs. “You’re- breathtaking, you know that? I’d have to be insane to let you slip by me. Say yes, and I’ll make it worth your while.”

“I-” his eyes drift up and catch Jean by the door, urgently waving her arms. Alex is already by her side, peering through the keyhole.  _ Professor!  _ She sends to his mind telepathically, the transmission tinged with urgency and therefore slightly painful.  _ Professor, please, come quick! There’s someone at the door!  _

“Okay, sure,” Charles says absently, already hanging up on the man’s  _ brilliant, I’ll pick you up at 8 next week,  _ and wheels himself over to the front door, just to see Alex yank open the door with startling urgency. 

The sight at the door shocks him into silence. And then he chokes, wild with sudden fear, “Erik- Erik, oh my god-”

Erik, one hand over the gaping hole in his side, smiles. His teeth are liberally streaked with blood, and beside him Jean yelps and shrinks into him. Charles, morbidly, thinks he’s never seen a more gorgeous smile. “I seem to remember someone saying this school was open to everyone, regardless of age,” he says, and then adds, “sorry for ruining your welcome carpet.”

Charles half sobs, his hand over his mouth. “Erik,” he gasps. “I don’t fucking care about the carpet.  _ Erik-”  _ there’s so much blood. So much blood, one human being couldn’t possibly produce that much of it, and Charles’ heart crashes into a thousand tiny finite pieces, over and over again, Erik’s mortality shoved into his face like a parcel gift wrapped from the universe. 

_ I didn’t even tell him I love him, _ Charles thinks, horrified.

“It’s a fucking shit carpet, anyway,” Erik informs him, and then keels over. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for this cliffhanger! the next chapter isn't much better but it will (probably, hopefully) get resolved by the fourth chapter. i've tried my hardest not to make charles seem like an asshole for suddenly switching around on wanting erik close but in case i've failed please know that charles is coming from a place of trauma re: his own internalised self loathing regarding his trauma, etc. also yes that Is the train scene from dark phoenix, i've co-opted it for my own use
> 
> as always leave a comment and/or kudos and u can hmu (or yell at me) on twt or tumblr


	3. Chapter 3: Erik

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw for non-explicit description of medical experimentation and its effects

The whole room has a dreamlike quality. Erik feels strangely weightless himself, one hand on a bishop as he investigates the chess board. Charles is across from him, brown hair in his eyes as he props his chin up on his palm, a small smile playing on his lips as he looks back at Erik. 

“I can’t believe I’m losing,” Erik frowns, inspecting the chess pieces. Even as he says it though, he never wants to leave. He rarely sees Charles like this- happy, relaxed, almost playful. Almost as soon as the thought crosses his head he frowns, something niggling at him. 

“What you get for playing with a telepath, my friend,” Charles says, grinning. His mouth, peeking over the edge of the palm, is as red as Erik remembers. Erik wants to kiss him, almost bursting into flames with the urge of it. 

Erik places his bishop, and Charles lowers his palm, grinning even more. “Never pegged you for a masochist,” he says. “This is just prolonging your defeat.”

“Not unless I figure a way out before that,” Erik retorts. Charles, weirdly enough, is dressed in a turtleneck that belongs to Erik- the sleeves bunched up, the front stretched over his chest. He looks like something Erik wants to box up and keep forever. 

“I can give you a way out,” Charles murmurs, and then looks up through his eyelashes. He’s rolling a pawn between his fingers, the movement hypnotizing and seductive. 

“What could you possibly say to help me?” Erik asks, incredulous. Try as he might, he can’t focus on the definitive edge of Charles’ outline. It just keeps shifting, Charles going in and out of focus. That should be concerning, he thinks, but for some reason there’s a strange lethargy weighing him down. 

“Lots of things,” Charles says. “We all need to accept help. You can’t be a lone wolf forever, old friend.” 

Erik blinks, straightening up at the gravity of his words. The feeling of unease settles even deeper, dislodging the exhaustion. “Alright,” he says carefully. “What should my next move be?”

The smile falls from Charles’ face and he leans across the table, the look in his eyes as grave as Erik has ever seen them. He reaches across and grabs Erik’s in his own, pressing his lips together in a deep frown. 

“Wake up,” Charles says. And then he screams,  **_“WAKE UP!”_ **

Erik wakes.

For a split second, he doesn’t recognise anything around him. It’s a dark room, sparsely furnished with the most basic of furniture, a bookshelf against the wall and an armchair buried beneath stray bandages and a box. Everything in him feels numbed, dumbed down to a vague, sensory feeling. He shifts his head, and stares. 

Leo stares at him, sitting by the pillow. He’s clad in a tiny jumpsuit covered in pictures of ducklings, his thumb in his mouth. Then he breaks into a wide, toothy grin, withdrawing his thumb to slap the side of his cheek. “Vati,” he says. 

Erik likes to think of himself as a prepared sort of individual. Few things ever take him by surprise because he’s made sure to establish himself that way, made sure he had two feet on the ground at all times, made sure absolutely nothing- and if not nothing, very little things- could shake him. 

And yet, he thinks despairingly, how could  _ anyone  _ be possibly prepared for waking up in an unknown location and coming face to face with a baby they’d saved from a mutant facility months ago calling them  _ daddy _ in German?

“Leo,” he says weakly. “Uh. Hello.” He puts one hand on the back of Leo’s head, gentler than he’s ever handled anyone else, ever, and watches disbelievingly as Leo grins wider, clapping his hand and babbling something in baby-speak. This has Charles’ footprint all over it, and he can’t even bring himself to be mad. If asked now, he won’t be able to recall the exact point in time both Charles and Leo became fixed points in his subconscious for him to cherish, for him to oscillate around but now- he can’t imagine his life without them, without orbiting around them as if both of them made up the sun and he, the earth. 

Speaking of- Erik shifts his head to the other side and smiles softly. There’s Charles, half on the bed and flopped over in his wheelchair, head pillowed on his arms. He stretches his other hand out and cards it through Charles’ hair, combing through the dark strands. Clearly, he’s somehow made it back to the mansion after getting ambushed by all the men that were sent by Essex Corp.  _ Charles,  _ he attempts tomentally project, and when the man continues to sleep the sleep of the dead, leans his hand down and shakes his shoulder. “Charles, wake up, come on-”

Charles wakes up so suddenly, jerking up awake in a flash that Erik does a full body flinch, drawing his hand back. He’s pale, dark circles beneath his eyes and the crinkles around his eyes deep with worry.  _ “Erik,” _ he gasps instantly, as if still coming up from a dream of some sort, and then his eyes focus on Erik himself. “Erik!”

“That’s my name,” Erik jokes. “Don’t wear it out.”

Charles stares at him for a while, clearly blank with shock before he raises two fingers to his temple. “It’s the middle of the night, but Hank will be up anyway,” he says tightly, lowering the fingers again. “He’ll check you over. You should be fine, he did a splendid job of stitching the gash up, but I’d feel better if he-”

“Charles, shut up for a moment,” Erik says, and Charles snaps his mouth shut, his teeth audibly clacking together. He hoists himself higher on the pillows, wondering vaguely why his side still feels numb. Once up he gestures for the glass of water by the bed and Charles instantly hands it to him, movements jerky and stilted. He has to pace himself, taking small sips before setting it aside and then reaching across the space between them, fitting the side of Charles’ face in his palm. Smooth and soft, just like always- Erik normally wouldn’t feel brave, wouldn’t feel entitled enough to do this but something about having Charles here, pale and tired with his hair flopping into his eyes and curling against the vulnerable slope of his neck makes something in Erik twist in on itself. Not to mention Leo calling him Vati. 

“I haven’t seen you in months,” Erik says softly. The last time he’d seen him, he had planted a kiss against Charles’ cheek and then crawled back out through the window. Charles had looked breakable against the pillows, eyelashes fanning out against his cheek and frowning even in sleep. 

“And whose fault is that?” Charles says sardonically. There’s not a hint of the usual anger or resentment in his eyes, though- just concern, worry, an overwhelming amount of relief. It can’t have been that serious, Erik thinks.

“It was that serious,” Charles says sharply, and at Erik’s look, rolls his eyes. “You were projecting.”

“That- I wasn’t-” Erik shifts, remembering their sort of argument that still hasn’t been resolved, not really.  _ You never did grant me that same courtesy.  _ Those words had been like a dose of cold water, a shock of  _ really?  _ That’s what he’d been doing to Charles? Erik’s never made a secret of proclaiming how beautiful he finds mutations, each and every single one of them. The fact that Charles had thought he’d been the exception to that rule is nothing short of gut wrenching. 

Erik loves his privacy. Erik also loves the fact that Charles is so powerful he could bend the entire world to his will if he wanted to. The two concepts can be mutually exclusive. Can’t they? 

Apparently not, if how Charles has reacted to his exclusion is anything to go by. 

“You were out for three days,” Charles continues, brushing his hair out of his eyes before leaning over Erik, scooping Leo up in his arms. Erik lets his hand fall from Charles’ cheek, watching as Leo curls into Charles’ grip, grabbing at his nose and emitting a shrill giggle. “If you’re feeling a little numb, it’s because I’ve dulled your pain receptors.” His eyes go slightly distant, and then he says, “Hank’s coming in, in a bit. Mind filling me in on what happened, exactly?”

Erik shrugs. “They had been waiting for me. All the mutant patients removed, just an army of private soldiers with ceramic bullets.” In hindsight Erik can admit it had probably been a stupid move to go after another facility so soon after his actions had been broadcast on live television. “I was barely able to get out. I don’t even remember how I got here.”

Charles’ lips thin, as he combs a hand through the back of Leo’s head. Leo has rested his head on Charles’ shoulder, looking tired. “So they knew you were coming? What about your helmet?”

“I told you,” Erik sighs. “I left it behind.”

“It could have protected your head from stray bullets,” Charles says sharply. “I’m not a fan of it but even I recognise practicality where it lies. Erik, honestly.”

Will every conversation be like this? An uphill battle for Charles’ hard sought for approval? “I’m so sorry I couldn’t have foreseen people anticipating me coming since I don’t, you know, have a telepath on my side,” Erik says savagely, noting with satisfaction when Charles flinches. “And you damn well know why I left the helmet behind. Stupidity doesn’t become you, old  _ friend.” _

Charles inhales sharply, shifting his gaze away and Erik swallows, regretting his sharp tone. “Look, Charles, I-”

“Hank’s coming in,” Charles cuts in. He lifts Leo slightly. “Got to put him to sleep- he woke up an hour ago, I was surprised his wailing didn’t wake you up. And you were here, so I thought that maybe he’d want to spend some time with you.”

“Not a bad sight to wake up to,” Erik says quietly. He reaches for Charles’ hand resting on Leo’s back, giving it a rough squeeze before withdrawing it again. 

“I don’t mean to pester, or nag,” Charles says quietly. “It’s just- you have no idea what it looked like, what I went through, seeing you bleed out on my carpet-”

“I believe I already apologised for the carpet,” Erik snarks, and subsides at Charles’ glare.

“I didn’t know if you were going to make it,” Charles says, his eyes suddenly looking suspiciously filmy. It makes something in Erik’s heart squeeze and he frowns, reaching for Charles again only for Charles to flinch back. “It was touch and go. You were on the front step of my house, a hole in your side, and I didn’t even-”

It is then that Hank, with his impeccable timing as always, bursts in through the front door. In the barrage of questions suddenly addressed to him- “Are you feeling any discomfort? Dizziness, pain- no, don’t  _ poke _ the wound, honestly, what is wrong with you?”- Charles wheels out, hands on his wheels and Leo standing on top of his unfeeling legs, peeking over his shoulder to stare at Erik. Charles doesn’t spare him a backward glance, as he leaves. In the wake of his retreat, the door slamming shut behind him, Erik is left feeling strangely bereft.

*

The wound, as it turns out, hadn’t been as serious as Charles was attempting to make it to be. “You dug the bullet out, god knows how,” Hank says, pushing his glasses up his nose and also looking like he could do with at least a month’s worth of sleep. “But you lost a lot of blood before coming here. I’m not a doctor, but we figured you wouldn’t want to be admitted to the hospital so I’m the best you’ve got.”

Once the dulling of the pain receptors wears off, Erik begins to understand why Charles had been so worried. The hole in his side hurts like a bitch and for the first two days Erik’s gritting his teeth, barely able to make it between the bathroom before collapsing back on the bed again. It gets a little easier after that, the throbbing decreasing gradually over time. Slightly alarming is the fact, though, that Erik can’t sleep- perhaps a side effect of being out cold for three days, but he finds himself staring at the ceiling more often than not, thinking about everything and nothing at all. 

He’d been caught completely unaware. While he’d been hunting down Trask’s facilities Essex Corp had cropped up as a new lead, fronting as a private security firm, but capturing mutants for reasons that were as of yet confusing, with victims appearing burnt out and pushed beyond their limits. Essex Corp had been truly dangerous for they had acquired what was left of Trask’s company, including but not limited to his research. There had been rumours drifting around for months, of the man at the head of it all being a mutant himself, of the corporation being so needlessly cruel there were graves of children turning up in the unlikeliest of places, mutant kids they had assured no one would miss. Erik had been informed by Caliban, one of his informants, that the inhabitants of the facility Erik had saved Leo from had been prepped to be transferred to facilities owned by Essex Corp the day after. 

“They’re angry you burned that shit down, boss,” Caliban had said, eyebrow arched. “They’re out for your blood. Lie low for a few weeks, go back to that professor of yours.” He’d dodged a scrap of metal that had flown at his face at that, cackling wildly.

Erik, being Erik, hadn’t listened. He’d done perfectly fine so far- even got pardoned for his crimes. There was no way they would actually catch up to him. Once he had gotten a firm location, he’d been off- only to realise he’d walked into a trap. The second he’d blasted the doors open they had started firing ceramic bullets at him, uniforms emblazoned with the E that stood for Essex Corp. It was a good thing he always kept those metal spheres on him, that had been the only reason why he’d managed to flee and keep himself intact; or, well, mostly intact. 

At the same time, though, he knows why they were able to get the drop on him. The past few weeks have been nothing short of a living nightmare- reaching out to Charles constantly, getting subtly rebuffed and shouldering on through the agony all the same. He’d known, in the back of his mind, that he had a ledger of mistakes to be making up to Charles for- he just hadn’t known how painful it would actually be, atoning for them. He’d buried the helmet in a grassy forest in Poland, convinced it would make Charles  _ see  _ that Erik loved all and every single part of him- missed him in his head, even. Why couldn’t he? Had Erik been that successful in unwittingly convincing Charles his love had been conditional? 

On the eve of the third day Erik finally feels well enough to venture out of the room. It’s different from what he remembers, a lot different; for one, it’s an actual, bustling school now. There are kids underfoot, a girl with wings who gives him a wide berth, goggling at him and another boy with blue skin and a tail suspiciously resembling Raven bumping into his back, skittering away and flushing as he did so.

The kitchen is, very thankfully, empty. He balances a toast in his mouth, holding coffee in his right hand and ventures out to the front lawn. It’s full of kids laughing about and screaming, a football getting kicked around between them. Charles is on the front porch, Leo in his arms, shoving what looks like Charles’ hair into his mouth. As he approaches, he can clearly hear Charles say, “Leo, come on- young man, that is  _ not  _ for eating.”

“You’re long overdue for a haircut, you know,” Erik says, as he stops by Charles’ side. He looks down and grins, Leo’s eyes looking suspiciously watery as his hand goes to Charles’ hair again. “Especially since he’s starting to mistake your hair for food.”

“He’s a baby, he doesn’t know what hair actually is,” Charles says dismissively, sweeping his hair back behind his ears and pressing a kiss to the corner of Leo’s ear. The strands glisten in the sun, golden. For a second Erik feels jealous of Leo getting to put them in his mouth and then abruptly feels very stupid for thinking so. “He probably thinks my hair looks pretty, or something.”

“He’s not the only one,” Erik says, and has to look in front, biting off a piece of his toast to keep from acting on the way Charles’ ears turn pink, the flush spreading from them to his cheeks. Erik knows from experience how far the flush could go, if prompted. Erik also knows that having the privilege to see the trajectory of such a phenomenon is in the past. 

“They’re having fun, aren’t they?” He says instead, nodding towards the kids. Alex is referee-ing them, blowing hard on his whistle and screaming bloody murder at someone named Scott, who looks very unrepentant. The same unruly, playful, rebellious Alex Summers, now a ball busting teacher if appearances were taken to be true. Wonders never did cease. 

“It’s game week,” Charles says, his voice slightly hoarse. “Seven of the students take turns every month to choose which games they should play. Scott chose football today and Ilyana- that’s the tiny one with the blonde hair, very fierce- chose volleyball for tomorrow.”

“Lots of scraped up knees,” Erik says. He remembers what it had been like, training with the recruits before Cuba. There had been banged up elbows, scratches from when he’d pushed Sean out a window, at least one memorable occasion where Charles had been running with Hank and seemingly tripped over nothing, falling flat on his face and sending everyone into stitches. For all the mishaps, they had been good memories.

Erik’s fingers clench on the handle of his coffee, thinking. He hadn’t had half as many good memories with the Brotherhood. None of that after Washington. 

“It’s all good, it’s at least going to be a sight to watch,” Charles says, an amused tone entering his voice. “Isn’t it, Leo? You’re having the time of your life, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

“Papa!” Leo shrieks, and Erik turns to see Leo clap his hands, a wide grin on his face. There’s a foreign feeling of glee in his mind- it takes Erik a while to realise Leo’s projecting. “Ball.”

“He’s learning words, here and there,” Charles says, although there’s a stiff set to his shoulders, now, his eyes looking warily at anything other than Erik. 

“I didn’t know he was calling you papa,” Erik says hesitantly, unsure if the olive branch he was extending was about to get ripped out of his hands and thrown to the ground as well, “but I can’t say I didn’t expect it. I would have never left him with you if I didn’t think you’d rise to the task.”

“Overwhelming praise,” Charles says, but there’s a grin lifting the corner of his lips now. 

“It  _ was  _ a shock waking up to him calling me Vati, I will admit that,” Erik says, grinning again, and has to hide a snort into his coffee as Charles turns beet red. 

“It wasn’t- I mean, you did bring him to me,” Charles says accusingly, clutching Leo closer. “You- you’re not mad?”

“No,” Erik scoffs. If this was years ago, he might have been, the memory of Anya and Magda still sharp in his mind like a fresh war wound. Now, though, the pain’s faded to that of a muscle strain, always present but never an actual hindrance. One year out in the wild with no one but the absolute scum of humanity and the occasional call to Raven or Charles for company has taught him one thing- he’s really, really fucking lonely. 

Charles thinks he doesn’t want to come back. Charles- as he often is- is wrong. Erik would like nothing more than to come back, but Erik needs to see to it that those who’d hurt his boy are eradicated from the face of the earth. For both Leo, and for Charles, who-

Erik looks down again, seeing Charles kiss the top of Leo’s head. Charles, beautiful in the morning light, cards his fingers through the curls on the back of Leo’s head and laughs at whatever he’s saying in baby-speak, nodding very seriously. 

Perhaps it is selfish of him, he thinks, but he also does not want to live in a space and get constantly reminded of how Charles used to want him, but not anymore. He’d be right not to, but the truth still stings, like a poison nettle designed to prick him when he least expects it. He had given his love freely through those phone calls but here up close, the reminder of all that is Charles up close and personal- it is like a mountain hurdle, insurmountable.

“I will say, my friend,” Charles says suddenly, “I rather manipulated the poor boy into looking at you as a father.” He looks up through his lashes, making no secret of trying to look as appealing and innocent as possible. “You don’t- hold that against me, do you?”

“Stop looking at me like that, I obviously don’t,” Erik grunts, shifting on his feet and shoving the rest of the toast into his mouth. “You think those eyes work on me?”

“Past experience says they do,” Charles says, smirking. “You’d be an excellent father to him. He was already thinking of you as one, anyway, I just- sped things along.”

Of course he did. That was one of the most endearing and frustrating things about Charles- the near insane need to set things in motion, and know he put it there. Control freak, Erik thinks fondly, to a near unbearable degree. “I don’t know about excellent father,” he says. “You have me beat there, I’m afraid.”

Charles hesitates, staring at Leo again as if he’s working out a few things in his own head. There’s an amicable few seconds, during which Erik tries his best not to laugh at the kid he’d seen resembling Raven earlier falling on his ass, before Charles blurts out, “Stay. Just for a few days, with the both of us.” 

Erik stiffens. “I can’t-”

_ “Please,” _ Charles grits out, his cheeks red and eyes wide and imploring. Against the backdrop of the mansion, they look so startlingly blue. All his travels in the world, and Erik has yet to see another shade of blue that can compare. If he could, he would say something about it- but he can’t, so the words end up drying out on his tongue. 

“Just for a few days,” Erik finally replies, knuckles right around the coffee mug. “Until- until I get my head on straight.” 

_ Until I make the world safe for you and for Leo again,  _ Erik doesn’t say out loud.  _ Until you you fall for me again. Until you feel brave enough to enter my head with the tenor of your thoughts again- warm, loving, irreplaceable. _

If Charles hears it all, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he sends Erik a blinding, bright smile, and Erik has to look away, swallowing around a sudden lump in his throat.

*

It’s not as if Erik doesn’t already love Leo. He’d fallen in love with that child, cherub cheeked and doe-eyed on those few weeks on the road, when all they’d had were each other and the endless stretch ahead of them to Westchester. Charles doesn’t know the agony of what it had been like to leave Leo with him, flee the mansion in the morning with nothing but memories but Erik does. All those months on the road and the memories of Leo had haunted him like a shadow- memories of Leo giggling at him, Leo wailing and subsiding in his arms to the sound of his mother’s German lullaby on his tongue, Leo grabbing for the tattoo on the inside of his forearm and slapping at him, his confused eyes welling up with tears. 

Is it _ really  _ a surprise, then, that Erik can’t stand to be without Leo, even for a second? The first time Erik carries Leo down, Charles had been knocked out in his own bed after a rough night of first answering a call from what he’d termed as a  _ very pushy parent, don’t worry about it Erik,  _ and then rocking a fussy Leo back to sleep. “I must admit, he’s very adept at screaming his lungs off. Perhaps a secondary mutation,” Charles had said through a yawn, pushing Leo into Erik’s hands before collapsing face first onto his pillow. Erik had then gone down to the kitchen, Leo resting his head on his shoulder to Alex and some of the students gawking at him like a fascinating museum exhibit. 

“Do I have something on my face?” Erik demands, as he sets Leo down in his high chair, massaging his throbbing side slightly. He’d forgone his meds again today- it would only be a matter of time before Charles came onto him and demanded him to take them like a hound from hell. 

“It’s weird seeing you with a baby,” the kid with a red visor named Scott from that football game says bluntly- Alex Summers’ brother, Erik remembers Charles introducing him as.  _ “You’re  _ Magneto.”

“Yes, thank you for that astounding observation, Scotty,” Alex snorts. “Off with you and Jean, now, don’t you have class?”

“Jean’s not done yet and the professor ain’t up,” Scott points out. Erik tries and fails to stifle a laugh.

_ “Out,  _ Scott,” Alex barks, clearly aggrieved. “Unless you want me to make the professor give you detention.”

“You can’t make the professor give me detention,” Scott says balefully, before grabbing Jean and pulling her away, ignoring her protests of  _ “but I wasn’t done telling Leo good morning!” _

“Reminds me of you,” Erik offers, and Alex snorts. There’s a bit of companionable silence as Erik searches for Leo’s food, realising with no small amount of surprise that Charles keeps his own favourite coffee blend well stocked. Charles himself prefers tea- Earl Grey, one teaspoon of sugar. After Cuba, the smell of it had become abhorrent to Erik, the harbinger of a time he had squandered with his own hands. 

“He’s right, though,” Alex says suddenly. “It  _ is  _ strange to see you with the kid.” He doesn’t say it as an observation like Scott had done- instead his tone is wary, as if throwing out an explosive device and expecting Erik to react.

Of course Erik reacts. “I did bring him to Charles, you know,” Erik says testily. “I’m not- I won’t hurt him.”

“I’m not saying you will,” Alex says, taking a sip from his coffee as he tickles Leo’s chin, smiling as Leo giggles. The aura of  _ happylovefun _ emanating from Leo isn’t enough to dissipate the sudden tension in the room, making both the other inhabitants stiff. “I’m saying, though, that you have the tendency to hurt people anyway, without meaning to.” 

Erik slams his coffee down on the table. “What will it take, for you to realise I’m  _ not  _ the same man who paralysed your mentor?” he hisses. His skin is prickling with a strange heat, the same heat that makes him drive that shard of metal an inch deeper into his enemies, the same heat that makes him lose his temper at Charles, yell at him and watch his brow furrowed with shock and disappointment, the same heat that-

Leo pushes his bowl of food away, his lip trembling. There’s an appropriate six seconds of silence before he starts to cry, loud gasping sobs that seem to occupy the entire room. 

“Good, now you’ve made him cry,” Alex hisses, his eyes narrowed. “He’s a  _ telepath,  _ you idiot, he catches up on these things. But you wouldn’t know about being considerate to a telepath, would you?” All barbs, designated for maximum impact. Alex would know very well where to cover all the areas it’s intended to hurt. 

The damndest thing is, Erik can’t even find it in himself to be truly angry at him for it. Instead he gets up and reaches Leo before Alex does, gathering him up in his arms and tucking Leo’s head in the crook of his neck, shushing him like he used to do Anya. “Come on now, little  _ drachen,”  _ he murmurs, rocking Leo in his arms and hyper aware of Alex’s sharp gaze on him. “Don’t cry. You wouldn’t want to wake your papa up, would you?”

Leo’s sobs slow down to sniffles, his tiny body trembling in Erik’s arms. Erik looks up and seeing the question in Alex’s eyes, sighs. “On the road, I would- tell him stories,” he says haltingly. “Just to pass the time til we reached Westchester. There was one story he loved, the one about a cursed dragon kidnapping a prince and then falling in love with him. The dragon eventually has the curse undone which turns him back into a king, and he returns the prince to his village, saying that he had his duties to return to.” In Erik’s firm opinion the story wasn’t even all that good- a little bit depressing in fact, considering the king leaves the prince, ignoring the prince’s begging for him to stay. Leo for whatever reason though, seemed to love the story, transmitting impressions of Erik telling the story into his head in baby-like glory whenever there was a slight lull on the road.

Alex’s lips quirk, the ire gone from his eyes. His eyes flit between Leo and Erik. “Was the original a little more heterosexual?”

Erik doesn’t dignify that with an answer, instead kissing Leo’s head once the sniffles have tapered off into silence, settling him back into the high chair. Leo clings to his hand, grabbing onto his thumb and refusing to let go, eyes still wide and watery. 

“I don’t trust you,” Alex continues, “but- and god only knows why- Charles does. And any idiot with eyes can see Leo adores you.” At the sound of his name, Leo perks up, beaming, and automatically the air in the room feels two degrees lighter. “If you hurt either one of them again-”

“I’ve learnt from my mistakes,” Erik says quietly. “I won’t repeat them.”

Alex considers him, just for a second. He’s growing out his hair too, just like Charles, the blond edges curling over his ears. Erik wonders if he missed some sort of memo about mainstream hairstyles getting longer. He’d look ridiculous with longer hair, anyway- not like Charles, who looks all dignified like a proper headmaster. “If only I could believe you,” Alex replies, his tone brittle, and gets up, leaving the room and heading for the kitchen before Erik can get so much as a word in. 

*

Erik, surprisingly enough, likes his stay at the Xavier Institute for Gifted Children. The students, once given the chance to warm up to him, are annoyingly endearing and intelligent in their own, unique ways. Alex and Hank don’t ever warm up to him, but they do thaw a little, their interactions with him turning a degree more civil as each day goes by. Raven drops by once, pokes fun at Erik’s new found domesticity and the still recovering wound in his side, and disappears again. 

It would all be perfect, if the one inhabitant whose opinion he cherished the most didn’t treat him like a ticking time bomb. 

Charles must have Erik’s routine memorised, somehow, because he makes himself scarce when Erik comes down, watching the students play a game of football or watch something on the television, or simply walking across the gardens and the lawns to sequester himself away from company. Sure, he pops up every now and then like a bad omen to make sure Erik’s not tiring himself out and taking his meds regularly, but other than that he almost resembles a ghost. There had been a time when Erik had stumbled in on him at the end of another phone call- the same pushy parent, if Charles was to be believed- but Charles had hung up the phone and immediately made the excuse of having a class to attend to, fleeing. If he’s trying to convince Erik to stay infinitely, he’s not doing a very good job of it. 

The wound in his side has simmered down to a low throb, unnoticeable on some days and cropping up like a bad omen on others. Charles, who avoids Erik otherwise, has taken it upon himself to replace his stitches. The sixth day into his stay at the mansion Charles pauses after tying it off, brushing his fingers over the stitches with a distant look in his eyes. 

“What?” Erik prompts harshly- more than anything else, due to the sensation of Charles’ fingers over his skin. It feels like electricity and a balm in one, a luxury he can’t allow himself the privilege of enjoying. 

Charles’ ears turn scarlet, then, and he yanks his hand away as if set on fire. “Nothing,” he mutters, and then brushes his hair behind his ears before Erik can do it for him, gathering the supplies in his lap and turning before Erik can so much as say  _ Charles.  _

About half a second later Charles wheels back in, eyes furious. “I’m not  _ avoiding  _ you,” he snaps. “God, how juvenile do you think I am?” There’s something dangerous in his eyes, as if he’s itching for a fight.  _ Go on,  _ they seem to say.  _ Make a mistake. Like the thousands you’ve made before.  _

“You tell me,” Erik snaps, scooting forward on the bed and refusing to take the bait. “You won’t even look at me. You ask me to stay, and yet-”  _ You don’t look at me when you speak to me,  _ Erik thinks, as loud as he possibly can,  _ and yet you told Leo to call me Vati.  _

The ire abruptly fades from Charles, replaced with a bone deep sorrow that takes Erik by surprise. Its there in the lines of his face and in the crinkles of his eyes, darkening them and deepening the furrow between his brow. “I- I didn’t realise,” Charles breathes, rubbing a hand over the bridge of his nose. “I- I’m sorry, my friend. I didn’t-”

A whisper of his thoughts spread over to Erik, and Erik takes a split second to wonder at what it is that has Charles so concerned he’s been projecting before he registers what it is he just felt from the man in front of him. “Why are you scared?”

“A deep question,” Charles says, a tiny quirk to the corner of his lips. The bottom lip is bitten through, swollen. Erik wants to worry about it with his own teeth, swipe his tongue over it and mark with himself. It’s a territorial thought and he knows Charles manages to catch it when the blush on his cheeks darken. 

“Very flattering,” Charles coughs, scratching at his ear in a manner that looks nervous. He falls silent, giving Erik the sort of look that feels too piercing for Erik to be able to tolerate it. The pause drags on, and Erik almost thinks Charles has forgotten Erik’s question when he says, “I have you on borrowed time, don’t I?”

Erik’s mouth falls open at that. “No, Charles, I-”

“You’ve been hurt once already,” Charles says and now, his eyes are filling up with tears. This isn’t fair- Charles looks back at him, cracked open and watery, and all Erik wants to do is sweep him into his arms and press his lips to the corner of his eyes, drink his sadness in. “You and Leo. And you’ll keep going out again, and leaving me again, and all I’ll have to do is stand by and watch. You’ll form the Brotherhood again-”

“No,” Erik says, fiercely. He hasn’t even thought of reforming the Brotherhood. Not since the catastrophe that had been Washington, getting slapped in the face with the view that perhaps he’d been going about this the much too heavy handed way. “Maybe, in another life. But in this one-”  _ In this one I love you. Can’t you see that? Can’t you see how much I love you? _

“I do,” Charles gasps, covering his mouth with his hands. The tears spill over and Erik can’t stand it anymore- he crashes onto his knees in front of the chair, leans up with his hand and brings Charles closer to him. Their foreheads touch and their breaths mingle and if Erik closes his eyes he can imagine he’s in a heaven of his own making. “And I love you so much, Erik, too much. But love has never been enough for us, has it?”

“You’re not the naive man you once were,” Erik says quietly. He’d be a fool to ignore the fact that Charles, thus far, has failed to berate him for the amount of violence he’s used against the facilities. “And I’m not that reckless man who paralysed you on a beach and brought down a stadium on you ten years later. I’m better, we are  _ better. _ We can make a second go of it, side by side. We can make it work.”

“I don’t want you to leave me but you  _ will,”  _ Charles says, and his voice cracks like porcelain on pavement. The sound cleaves Erik’s heart in two. “And- forgive me for being, for being selfish, my darling, but if you stay, it will be for Leo. Not for me, never for me. What kind of a monster does that make me, that I can’t be his father without you and yet, I want you here for me, too?”

Erik’s voice dies, breaks into tiny flakes in his throat. Instead, he presses a kiss to Charles’ cheek, tasting wet and salty with tears on his tongue. He moves down, to the skin showing through the open and gaping collar of Charles’ shirt, nipping at the brown freckles that reveal themselves. 

“Stop distracting me,” Charles breathes, high and thready, but his hand finds its way to the back of Erik’s head, carding through the strands and scratching at his scalp. 

“You don’t think I love you,” Erik states, exhaling. He entwines his hand with the one Charles has on the back of his head, bringing it down. 

“Not as much as I do you,” Charles whispers. His eyes are red-rimmed, the blue in them eerily bright from the tears. Just like that day in Cuba- a look that’s been seared into the back of Erik’s mind, forever. “The scales are tipped here, my friend. Why else- why else do you persist in leaving?”

“Because it’s for  _ you  _ and for Leo!” Erik hisses, tightening his grip on Charles’ hand. “I’m getting rid of them for you- Charles, I don’t know what else to do. I don’t know how to make you believe in me anymore.”

Charles just gazes at him, eyes large and mournful as his thumb strokes over the top of Erik’s index finger, touch light as a feather. Then they turn sharp as Erik shifts on his knees, wincing. “Let’s move this to the bed, you aren’t as young as you used to be anymore.”

Despite the seriousness of the conversation, Erik can’t help a leer.

“Oh, for- get your mind out of the gutter,” Charles snaps. “Just to  _ talk.  _ We aren’t done with this conversation and we are  _ not  _ going to have sex in the middle of it so you can get that look out of your face.”

*

“We can’t keep making this a habit,” Charles pants as Erik pulls out of him, tying off his condom and then throwing it somewhere in the direction of the wastepaper basket. He breathes out a thank you as Erik lets his legs down, which had been hoisted up with the use of the metal from the headboard. “I’m serious, Erik. Remember what happened in the plane?”

“Of course I do,” Erik says, grinning as he hoists himself up on his elbow, looking down at Charles. The plane, where he’d bent Charles over the sink and they’d later come out of the toilets to both Hank and Logan glaring at them. And then before that, the days before Cuba, pressing Charles down into his sheets in the wake of a fight lingering on their lips, pressing his arguments into Charles’ skin, Charles’ nails scratching out rebuttals and retorts into the lobes of his spine. If nothing else they have perfected this, the art of turning almost every fight they have into a carnal dance. “Don’t tell me you didn’t miss this.”

“Of course I did,” Charles snorts. He runs his fingers over Erik’s face, between his brows and down his nose, over his lips and the side of his jaw. He trails fire with them, setting the nerves beneath alight in a way no one else has ever done- not even Magda. “You’re so beautiful. It makes me feel-” his voice breaks off as he frowns. 

“Terrified,” Erik finishes, knowing. “You don’t think I feel the same?”

Charles stays quiet, biting at his own lip. There’s a bruise on the jut of his collarbone, one that Erik remembers tongueing the shape of. “When I said you’d leave,” Charles says quietly, “you didn’t correct me.”

“You know that while there’s still people out there testing on, hurting mutants, I can’t stay,” Erik says furiously. “You know that while Essex Corp-”

“Hold on,” Charles says sharply, hoisting himself up into a sitting position so rapidly Erik almost gets bowled over. “Essex Corp?”

“Yes, it was men from Essex Corp that gave me this,” Erik says, gesturing to his wound and frowning. That had been a bit of an excessive reaction to the name Essex. Despite himself, a chill starts to set in Erik’s gut. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Charles says instantly, too instantly for it to be true. He catches the look in Erik’s eyes and adds, “Seriously, Erik, it’s nothing. He has facilities? What has he been doing in them?”

“I told you- testing on children,” Erik says, scowling. “Not like Trask- Trask was splicing DNA, trying to figure out a way to create a machine that could be as powerful as mutants. This was different.” He lets what Raven had informed him float to the forefront of his mind- that the head of the corporation was supposedly a mutant himself, that no one knew who they were and yet they seemed to be pushing the boundaries of mutations rather than figuring out how to curb them, that after Trask’s arrest Essex Corp had acquired what had been left of Trask Industries. He refuses to voice aloud the most damning piece of information of all, the most terrifying, letting Charles pick it from his head instead- that Leo was supposed to be shipped to a facility held by Essex Corp. 

Charles’ eyes widen as his fingers twist in the blanket. “So you don’t- you don’t know what they’re attempting to do?”

“No,” Erik says, frowning. “Most of the kids seem like Leo, or close to it- burnt out, exhausted.” A lock of hair flops over Charles’ eyes, obscuring it from view, and Erik brushes it back behind his left ear before continuing, “They’d been waiting for me. More men than I’d ever encountered- Essex Corp has government support of some kind.”

“I see.” Charles has gone almost translucent, white with a strange sort of fear and Erik has the urge to console him, tell him that the corporation would never get to the school. Not if Erik can help it. Erik will do whatever it takes to make sure the students are all safe and secure. “Do you think- are they coming back for the kids who have already escaped?”

So it was about Leo, then. Erik feels relief bloom in his stomach, the fear that Charles was perhaps more familiar with Essex Corp than he’d let on abating. “No, but if they do we will be ready,” Erik promises. 

Charles gives him a withering look. “Not if you’re not here,” he snaps. “Alex and Hank are good, bless their souls, but-”

“Charles,” Erik says, and then lifts his knuckles to his mouth, pressing them to his lips. “No harm will come to Leo, or your school. Even when I have to leave, I’ll guarantee it.” 

Charles swallows noisily, the fear looming in his eyes. Before Erik can say anything, he shakes his head, lifting a trembling hand to squeeze at the bridge of his nose. “Never mind,” he whispers. “I’m- I’ll go look for Leo, shall I? I’m missing him rather a lot, suddenly. I hope you won’t hold it against me.”

“Never,” Erik says immediately, although worry tightens his gut. There’s something in the way Charles avoids his gaze, something in the way Charles suddenly seems skittish, skin still pale and eyelashes fluttering over the top of his cheeks that suddenly makes Erik want to tie him to the bed and demand he never leave. And yet, he’s learned his lesson. He can’t make Charles do anything he doesn’t want to do. “Bring him back here, will you?”

Charles transfers himself to the wheelchair, quick as anything, before accepting the plaid shirt Erik passes to him. He buttons up as Erik watches the expanse of skin disappear regretfully, sending Erik a look once he realises it’s not his own shirt. Erik smirks back at him in response.

“Of course,” Charles finally answers with a tremulous smile, once the buttons are done up. The collar sags on him, a temptation. “I’ll be here at once.”

Feeling strangely discomfited, Erik lies back down on the pillow, thumbing the stitches over his side. It never occurs to him to ask how Charles had come to know about Essex Corp, a private security fit only known by name to the upper echelons of the military and the criminal underworld. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) this chapter is pretty much the calm before the storm and hence i apologise  
> b) if you have a keen eye you will realise that this story has like a four chapter limit and i can't possibly finish off the entire essex plotline in one chapter. and you will be right! i am turning this into a series and there's a sequel coming that picks up from where this story will eventually leave off  
> c) i've tried my best to make erik and charles' dispositions and where they're coming from very clear but in case it still isnt feel free to drop me an anonymous ask on tumblr or dm me on twitter  
> d) if, again, you have a keen eye, you'll notice that throughout this story charles is fending off phone calls from a 'pushy parent'. its exactly who you think it is
> 
> as always, leave a comment and/or kudos! feedback encourages your authors to give you chapters faster <3


	4. Chapter 4: Erik

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and here we are now at the last chapter of this first part! 
> 
> tw for dub-con experimentation on minors, canon-typical violence, child abuse, creepy behaviour a la essex

It had taken about ten minutes to find the diner. They’d spent the first five minutes of that frantically going down the streets in town, Erik casting his senses around for the metal of Charles’ chair while Alex sat beside him, vibrating with tension and his knuckles white around the wheel of the car. Time, though, wasn’t on their side. 

The diner was in the classier part of town, both the surrounding streets and the interior itself still empty save for an occupied table in the middle. The second Alex slows the car to a crawl Erik bursts out of it, stumbling on the curb and scrambling to the glass windows at the side of the diner. 

Charles is there. Stupid, stupid,  _ stupid  _ Charles, who had lied to him and said they’d do everything together is there, skin starkly white against the navy of his pressed shirt while Nathaniel Essex stands behind him, hand on his shoulder. Not tight, but the hold is firm enough and Erik has never wanted more to break every single bone in someone else’s body. He will hold Nathaniel Essex down, he will crush every single one of his limbs to dust, he will-

Charles turns his head and stares through the window, right into Erik’s eyes. His own are watery and as Erik watches a tear falls, darkening the cloth of his shirt. Erik knows what he’d say if he could speak at that moment. Charles in his dream, pressing a kiss against his lips, had said enough. 

Essex turns his head as well, and smiles, staring directly at Erik. The hand on Charles’ shoulder clamps down, and Erik- 

*

**_36 Hours Ago_ **

Erik wakes up, befuddled, to an empty room. Leo’s gone too, Charles having brought him back to lie between them last night. He yawns, stretching his hand out and then blinking when it meets… paper?

Scrambling, he sits up and rubs his eyes. Once his eyes feel a slight bit less gritty he brings the note closer to him. 

_ Didn’t wake you because you looked very cute asleep. Leo’s with Hank in the lab. Also, had to wear a scarf to class >:( we will continue our conversation later x _

_ -Charles  _

Erik traces his fingers over the little inked angry face, grinning a little before finally setting it aside. He must have been out cold- the alarm clock informs him that it’s already eight in the morning. And for good reason too, considering what he and Charles had talked about. 

Despite the memory of that, Charles’ tears wetting the back of his palm, he’s in a helplessly good mood. He whistles as he walks down, striding into the now empty kitchen to search for some cereal, head full of just Charles and the way he’d sighed Erik’s name into the pillow last night, hand dragging red marks down his back. Mind buzzing, Erik doesn’t notice Raven entering the kitchen and thus jumps a foot into the air when Raven crows behind him,  _ “Someone _ got laid last night, huh?”

“Raven!” Erik absolutely does not shriek, hitting his head on the low hanging door from the cupboard and then staggering away, clutching the part that throbs in response. He turns, glaring at Raven who just snorts, pushing past him into the kitchen and saying, “ _ move, _ you’re hogging the fucking cereal.” 

“How did you-”

“Big hickey on your neck,” Raven points out, and Erik curses, slapping a hand over the offending area while he fumbles the refrigerator open with the other one. He should have gone for the scarf too, then. They’re silent for a while, the clinks of spoons against bowls the only sound in the room until Raven sets her bowl down. 

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” she says quietly. “If you’re stringing Charles along for the ride-”

“Why are you here, Raven?” Erik asks brusquely instead, spooning more of the cereal into his mouth. The first time Raven had found him after Washington, hunkered down in a motel in Rio De Janeiro, she’d proceeded to break three of his ribs, then accompanied him to the nearest clinic. They’ve been trading intel on Essex Corp, hunting down the facilities closest to their respective locations, a disjointed, dysfunctional, yet strangely successful team. Despite that, something’s cracked between them since the day Erik had tried to kill her, something that can’t ever recover. They may have fought side by side once but just like with Charles, there was too much history between them. He didn’t need to get relationship advice from her. 

“Glad to see you’re still a giant asshole,” Raven retorts. “I have some new and alarming information. I came to talk to Charles but you being here is a bonus.” 

Erik’s heart clenches, as he lowers the bowl down. He hadn’t wanted to leave so soon. “What information?” he asks warily. 

“Like I said,” Raven says, eyes narrow, “I’ll tell you and Charles, together. Lead the way, loverboy.”

Charles is true to his word, teaching a class, reading out a passage to them from a book in his hands . He’s dressed in Erik’s plaid shirt from yesterday, a matching red scarf slung around his neck and artfully covering most of it as well as some of his collar. It would look ridiculous on anyone else, Erik thinks as he folds his arms, leaning against the doorframe. 

At his entrance Charles’ eyes flick up from the book to meet his. He beams instantly, lips curving in a beam that seems to light up the entire room. Leo and Charles were similar in that sense, somehow being able to change the ambience of a room with just a simple smile. Not just because they were telepaths- god knows Emma Frost never had that ability. It’s the result of something else, something uniquely them. 

“Right, that’s enough for the day,” Charles says, closing the book. “You need to all- okay, okay, settle down, I haven’t released you yet- Ilyana, you  _ sit _ down right this instant. Okay,  _ homework.” _

Almost on cue, every single student in the classroom groans. Raven grins from beside Erik. “He’s good at this, isn’t he?”

“Like he was born to be one,” Erik says. It gives him a strange sort of unease at the bottom of his stomach. Seeing Charles in his element, glorious and capable- it’s a shock of cold water to the face. What is he thinking, how could he possibly deserve a man like Charles? Who’d been broken by Erik, time and time again, and somehow found a foothold anyway when Erik had lost it each time? Before Charles, Erik hadn’t evr known what it had been like to be in love with someone and yet, feel woefully inadequate around them. Charles, just by the virtue of being himself, set an impossible act that made it hard to follow. 

He wanted to stay with Charles, of course he did. But would Charles stay with him? Someone who’d only caused death and destruction, pain to those who loved him? 

Someone clears his throat and Erik jumps about a foot in the air, blinking before looking down. 

“Hey,” Charles says softly. His hair is falling into his eyes, and Erik feels the urge to brush it away and back behind his ear. “The students are all gone. Are you alright? I’ve been calling your name for ages.”

“Of course,” Erik says, blinking rapidly. He entangles Charles’ fingers with his own, folding them in a tight grip. He turns to Raven. “Raven had something to say.”

“I did,” Raven says, assessing them both with a clear gaze. She opens her mouth as if to say something, and then closes it again. The judgement is there, in the way she holds herself stiff, in the gold of her eyes. It makes Erik grit his teeth, holding onto Charles’ hand all the more tighter.

Fine, maybe he didn’t deserve Charles. But he sure as hell wasn’t going to let him go. 

“Well, what is it then,” Charles says impatiently. “I have to get to the lab, and Leo’s been asking for his Vati.”

“He has?” Erik says, stunned.

“Of course,” Charles grins, bringing Erik’s hand to his lips. The light touch is electrifying and yet, strengthening. It’s a shot of courage to the core of Erik’s soul, telling him that he’s got every right to be here, every right to be holding on to Charles like this. But by the heavens above, he has never been more in love with anyone else than him. “I keep telling you that he loves you.”

“Charming,” Raven cuts in before Erik can continue, “but I do have some intel and it’s concerning.” Her eyes flick to Erik. “It’s about the CEO of Essex Corp- we didn’t have a name before because they had been highly protected, but now we do. It’s Nathaniel Essex.” She brings out a photograph of him- a man with a strong jaw, green-blue eyes and a close-cropped hair.

Erik tenses. Beside him, Charles goes as still as a brick. “I don’t recognise him,” Erik says, in his usual blunt manner. “What about him? This can’t be all the information you have.”

“He’s in Westchester, Erik,” Raven snaps, and the blood in Erik runs cold. “He’s been spotted,  _ right _ here. In the malls, fucking shopping, talking to people.”

As if on cue, the phone rings from its landline, and all the inhabitants in the room startle.

“I’ll take it,” Charles says hastily, running a hand through his hair before wheeling himself out of the room. Erik clenches his hand into a fist once Charles lets go of it, feeling the phantom imprint of his fingers on his own. 

“I don’t think I have to tell you this is bad news,” Raven hisses once the door swings shut. “Essex has probably gotten wind of the fact that this school is here, with all its students just ripe for the taking.” The infernal phone continues to ring, as Raven rubs at the side of her neck, clearly agitated. “What should we do?”

The ringing of the phone cuts off, and Erik heaves a sigh of relief. “Boost the school’s defences,” he says. “Hunt the fucker down.”

Raven stares at him.  _ “You’re _ in no state to be hunting anyone down,” she says flatly. “You just almost got sawed in half-”

“You’re overexaggerating,” Erik disagrees, waving a hand and rolling his eyes. Like brother, like sister- both with a flair for dramatics. “I’m fine, I only got shot.”

“Only got  _ shot,  _ he says. Well, take it from someone who  _ also _ got shot, it recovers like a fucking bitch,” Raven retorts heatedly, and Erik flushes, filled with guilt. She sighs, rubbing at her forehead as if in an attempt to stave off a migraine. Unbidden, Erik thinks of the numerous times he used to do that for Charles- rub circles into the sweaty skin at his temples, pressing kisses whenever the overload from the thoughts of everyone around him got too much. “Look, if you leave now, Charles is never going to forgive you. And leaving just when I’ve told you the school is in danger- it’s counterproductive.”

“The best defense is a good offense,” Erik argues, and Raven snorts. 

“Right, how did that work out for you in Washington? That’s what I thought. No,  _ you _ stay here and do your best to make sure the school’s defenses are as strong as they can be. I’ve gotten a few contacts, I’m going to go after him.” She has a determined glint in her eye, the kind that tells Erik there will be no changing her mind. She’s come a long way from that frightened girl who’d been ashamed with her own skin. Once again, just like with Charles, it leaves him with the same, vague unease. Everyone moving ahead, constant and steadfast, while his feet seem glued to the ground. 

“At least don’t go it alone,” Erik finally urges, and Raven snorts again. 

“I’m not  _ you, _ Erik,” she says, her voice full of derision. “I know when to ask for help.”

“If I wanted to be perceived this early in the morning,” Erik replies dryly, “I would have asked.”

“When have I ever listened to you?” Raven asks.”No, don’t answer that- I don’t want to be reminded of my hero worship. I’m going to go talk to Charles once he’s done with that call of his, you stay with Charles and take the time to yourself to recover for once in your goddamn life.”

Erik gnashes his teeth together, furious. It’s never sat right with him to send others out to do his dirty work. How can Raven ask this of him now? 

As if Raven can hear his thoughts- wrong Xavier sibling, but all the same- she pats his arm somewhat condescendingly.“Look, stay with Charles and recover,” she says softly. “You’re looking different already, both of you. He’s looking a lot happier. You look- well, less like you’re three seconds away from committing seppuku.” Before Erik can retort she’s turning on her heel, flouncing off to the door and slamming it shut none too gently behind him. 

“Oh, fuck off,” Erik tells the door, aggravated. He looks around the now empty room- strewn bean bags everywhere, a few childish drawings on the wall and the teacher’s table, of course overflowing with books of all sizes used as paperweights. He approaches the table, picking one book up and setting the page beneath it free. 

It’s a torn out paper, Erik realises. A poem, probably from one of the many books in the vast library upstairs. Erik thinks about calling out telepathically to Charles, making fun of him for ruining the very things he loved so much before the words on the page catch his attention. 

_ To my apollo,  _

_ my golden arrow _

_ your face is the sky,  _

_ your rage the clouds _

_ your love the moon, _

_ a silver lake gleaming in the darkness _

_ your pain the thunder, _

_ striking me relentlessly _

_ over and over _

_ but your heart- _

_ your heart the breeze _

_ carrying me to the gold rim ahead of us. _

_ Anonymous, c. 1800s _

There is a scribbled note at the bottom, in Charles’ messy scrawl.  _ To give to Erik- don’t forget!!  _ His heart strangely sore, Erik shoves the paper back beneath the book. “Fuck,” he mutters, laughing shakily as he swipes the back of his wrist across his eyes. It comes away wet.

*

**_28 Hours Ago_ **

“I have to show you something,” Charles says, face pale. He’s changed out of the plaid shirt after his shower, and Erik finds himself missing it. 

“Alright,” Erik says warily, hefting Leo up in his arms. He thinks of telling Charles about the poem he’d found, then decides against it. Charles had made himself scarce the rest of the day after his talk with Raven, and Erik had left him alone, still rankling at Raven’s order himself. He’d instead collected Leo, gone to the shed in the backyard and melted bits of metal into little shapes of animals, floating them around for the boy. Leo had been very pleased, clapping his hands gleefully, shrieking and tapping at the metal that flew in close. His Leo, already shaping up to be everything he wouldn’t be. 

“Your Papa and I will give you everything we didn’t have,” Erik had said in the dark of the shed, tickling his cheek. “A loving home, a family that will stay with you. You will be safe with us, little  _ drachen.” _

In response, Leo had beamed at him, before blowing a spit bubble and making Erik laugh. 

“Right,” Charles says now, nibbling at the nail on his left thumb, looking at Leo. “Right, right, okay. We’ll hand Leo over to Alex, first. He’s in the front lawn right now.” He seems to give himself a mental sort of shake before abruptly lowering his hands to turn the wheelchair around, wheeling himself down towards the lift. He doesn’t speak again even as they pass Leo over to Alex who looks between the both of them, visibly worried. As they head back into the lift, Erik is left staring at a hickey he’d left on the base of Charles’ neck, wondering if last night had been a mistake- maybe he’d misread the whole situation, maybe Charles didn’t want-

“It’s nothing like that,” Charles says, and then winces. “Sorry, I shouldn’t do this. I’m- a little out of sorts today.”

“It’s fine, Charles,” Erik says hesitantly. “You  _ are  _ starting to worry me, though.” 

“Don’t worry,” Charles says quietly. “I’ll start expl- oh, here we are.” The lift doors draw open, and Charles leads the way out. It’s only until they pass a few unfamiliar doors in a row that he realises they’re in a part of the mansion never really explored before. “This is the East Wing, isn’t it?” he asks. “You said- when we first got here, you made all of us promise not to go here.”

“You remember that?” Charles says, surprised. “Yes, I did. But- certain things, and with Leo- ah, here we are.”

They stop in front of a mahogany door, the plaque dusty and bearing the name B. G. XAVIER. Charles draws the keys out from the pocket on the inside of his jacket, and Erik sees that his hands are lightly trembling, the blue veins visible. There are bite marks on his knuckles, and Erik recognises the indent in them from his own skin this morning. “Charles…”

“I’m fine,” Charles says, too quickly. “Now, this hasn’t been opened in- oh, decades, so hopefully you find it in yourself to forgive the state the room is in.”

The door opens, and Erik is momentarily grateful to Charles for the warning as a cloud of dust immediately smacks him in the face, making him sneeze. The room is covered in a layer of dust that has to be at least three inches thick, the objects barely visible beneath the grey film. Erik steps into the room further, dust flying around his shoes and settling on it. It’s worse for Charles’ chair- Erik can already see the wheels getting dirty, tire tracks left on the floor. 

There’s a table in the middle of the room, a cushion-backed chair behind it. It’s bare, save for a photo frame laid on its front, the stand poking out from the back. Erik approaches the table, picking up the frame in his hands and staring. A man very much resembling Charles when Erik had first met him, all those years ago, stares back at him, standing next to another man and a very beautiful woman with blonde hair twisted into a knot at the back of her head, looking at something off to the side of the frame. The picture’s black and white, with both in suits and bearing slight smiles, the very height of opulence. It hints at a world he will never be a part of- not that he’d had any inclination to be, anyway. 

This must be Charles’ parents, he thinks. Who else could it be? Charles had never told him about them. It wasn’t for lack of trying- Erik would ask, and Charles would somehow deftly steer the conversation away towards the recruits. It grew to be a sore spot for Erik- Charles, after all, knew everything about him right down to the colour of the stripes that had been on his uniform at the concentration camps. Why did Charles never grant him that courtesy? 

After Cuba, the issue had fallen to the wayside, insignificant in the wake of far, far greater problems between them. He had simply assumed that a man with his actions defined by his naivety must have had a charmed life. Maybe, Erik thinks, as Charles wheels himself over to the drawers below the desk, a distant and cold look settling over his eyes, he’d assumed wrong. 

“What’s this place?” Erik asks aloud instead. 

Charles glances at him, then, as if suddenly reminded of his presence. “My father’s study,” he says after a pause that feels like it’s lasted an eternity. “Dr Brian Xavier.”

“Doctorates ran in the family, then,” Erik says, and is stupidly pleased by how the corner of Charles’ lips finally lift in a barely-there smile.

“I suppose they did, although my father…” his voice trails off, the smile disappearing altogether. “They tell you not to speak ill of the dead. Especially not where said dead actually left the earth.”

“Where said dead-  _ Scheiße _ , _ ”  _ Erik yelps, jumping back from the desk.  _ “Here?” _

“Here,” Charles confirms, unsmiling. “You know, I was in the backyard. Playing, or something- I don’t know. I felt this pain, this emotional pain, and I knew I had to look. Ran all the way up here, threw the door open. My father, he was right there.” He points a finger at the cushion-backed chair, and then lifts the same hand to the side of his own head, forming the shape of a gun. “Took a look at me, and then blew his fucking brains out.  _ Bang.”  _ The last word is said with no inflection, his voice sounding dead. 

Erik stares at the chair, and then at the photo frame in his hands. The man stares back at him, smiling guilelessly. He’s got the same eyes as Charles, an iridescent blue. 

“He wasn’t a bad man,” Charles says, emotionless. “Just fucked in the head. The most brilliant man I ever knew. All those brains- it became his own enemy.”

Erik places the frame back on the table, face down. “He was like you, then. A professor.”

“Of genetics,” Charles says, still emotionless. The coldness in his eyes was terrifying. “Just like me. He wanted to know everything that there was to know about mutation. Where it had come from, what it could allow us to evolve to next, all the like. But he was… unhealthily obsessed.” His voice trails off again, his gaze shifting away.

Erik frowns. “Obsessed how?”

“He’d test my telepathy,” Charles says, shrugging, “make me tell him what I caught from his colleagues, inject sedatives and ask how well I could read him, bring me to parties and make me narrate the sequence of thoughts I caught from everyone, one by one.” He then catches the look Erik gives him and immediately straightens up, alarm entering his eyes. “Oh, no, no, nothing like Shaw- it was, it was harmless really-”

“Charles,” Erik growls. The desk starts vibrating. He thinks if the photo frame had been made of metal, it would have cracked into two. “I don’t care whether he was like Shaw or not. You were- you were  _ experimented  _ with. That’s not right.” 

“No, it wasn’t,” Charles says, severe. The line between his brows furrows deeper. 

“I’ll rip him to pieces,” Erik thunders, momentarily forgetting that the man himself is dead. The desk vibrates harder and he blows out through his nose harshly, trying to calm himself down. “How  _ dare-” _

“I didn’t tell you this for your sympathy, Erik, calm  _ down,”  _ Charles snaps, and it’s only the brittle tone of his voice that makes Erik quieten, the desk stilling again. He swallows, keeping his gaze on Charles as Charles shifts to wrap his own arms around himself, his grip so tight the knuckles appear white. “I  _ told  _ you this because my father kept notes. Granted, he was a- a madman, a well-intentioned madman-”

“You think because he believed in what he was doing, it makes it okay,” Erik says, in disbelief. “Charles- do you think Shaw was in the right? To treat me like his personal lab rat, all those years?” The memories drift to the forefront of his mind, then, of Shaw cutting into him, forcing him to exhaust himself by fine-tuning his control over metal, carving him into the perfect weapon. Frankenstein’s monster, indeed.

“I don’t- of course not,” Charles says, helpless. “It’s- it’s different. I never went through the enormity of what you did. Your  _ pain,  _ Erik, your suffering- it’s magnitude does not compare.” 

“Liebling,” Erik says, exasperated. Two PhDs, and Charles remained startlingly dumb in the moments where it counted. “This isn’t the fucking misery Olympics. You can own up to your suffering, too.”

Charles stares at him, slightly open-mouthed. The look in his eyes, raw and open, break Erik’s heart all over again and he wants nothing more than for Charles to walk him through those memories of his father controlling and manipulating Charles, for Charles to reveal everything about his past to him, for Charles to realise that for him to go through that and still be everything Erik clearly wasn’t- good, whole, upright- it showed that he truly,  _ truly _ was something special. The diamond in the rough, Erik’s mother would say. 

“That’s not the point,” Charles says, finally. “I didn’t bring you up here for a trip down memory lane. As I was saying, my father may have been a nutter but he  _ was  _ brilliant. He kept a folder of all his findings, scribbled down and it’s here somewhere, in this drawer.” He inclines his head, then, fitting one of the keys into the drawer and opening it slowly before reaching in and placing one thick manila folder on the desktop. “And here we go. All the findings on the telepathy of one Charles F. Xavier.” The smile he gives after that little proclamation is fragile, a shaky and trembling thing. 

Erik approaches his side of the table warily. What he sees nearly makes him throw up all over the filthy, dust-ridden table. It’s a picture of a skinny, precocious Charles, at least five years of age or so, staring straight into the camera with that piercing gaze of his. His hair is neat and combed to the side, shirt neatly pressed as if he’s posing for a picture for graduation day.

“I was thinking,” Charles says, his voice shaking for the first time, “maybe there’s something in here that could help Leo. Or maybe there’s something in here that could help me boost the school’s defences. But I can’t read this. I can’t go through these files, because I can’t s-see myself as a test subject, dissected like a fucking mouse in a college grade experiment. I’ll lose whatever grip I have left on my sanity.” Charles looks up, then, his eyes startlingly bright in this dusty mausoleum of a room, and suddenly Erik knows what he’d been brought here for.

“Charles, no,” Erik chokes out, grabbing for Charles’ hand and gripping it tight in his own. “I- don’t ask me to do this. I can’t- not anytime soon.”  _ Not ever, _ he thinks. How could Charles even  _ think _ he could ever read a file that reduced the man he loved to nothing more than a specimen to be experimented on? After what Erik had went through, after what Erik had seen his fellow members of the Brotherhood succumb to? 

Charles winces. “I would usually never, but Leo’s future may depend on it,” he says softly. “Please, Erik. If not now, at least- sometime in the future. When you’re ready.”

Erik should say no. It’s a recipe for unmitigated disaster, Charles’ past hanging between them like Damocles’ sword. Even now the previously held assumptions Erik had always had about Charles have been shaken to the core, the foundation of them destroyed. Everything he thought he’d known about Charles, a fragile facade to the truth beneath. 

And he should have foreseen this- Charles Xavier, the resident expert on deception on a scale unprecedented and unseen of before. He had been a fool to think he’d be the exception to that, that while Charles was pulling the wool over everyone else’s eyes, he’d been left out of it. And now- now this folder lay between them like a ticking bomb, and he was too afraid to ask what else Charles was hiding. 

Charles knew everything about him. He didn’t know anything about Charles. And this folder would fix that, would level the scales except- Erik clenches his fist, breathing shallowly. Except that now, he’s not sure he’d be okay with unravelling the mystery that Charles had suddenly become.

Charles hunches in on himself, his face drawn and pale and eyes beseeching. Erik suddenly misses his helmet, with an ache that shoots through him like an arrow. As if on cue, Charles turns away, his gaze focusing on a spot above Erik’s shoulder, and Erik knows without a single doubt in his mind that Charles had heard it all. 

“Fuck,” Erik says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I didn’t mean-”

“I understand,” Charles says, his eyes still somewhere else. “I know you, Erik. I didn’t really expect anything different.” His disappointment rings true in every single word, and Erik suddenly feels so horrifically guilty it threatens to choke him with it. What had he been thinking? He  _ loves  _ Charles. This man he’d do anything for, this man he dragged himself bleeding all the way to Westchester for because he’d known if he’d died with a ceramic bullet in his stomach Charles would probably reincarnate him and then kill him all over again. 

If Charles wants to keep his secrets, close to his chest and well-tended to, Erik will let him. This isn’t about Erik, after all. This is about the man in front of him, haunted by the ghosts of his past as he sits pale and trembling in a graveyard of a room that should have stayed buried where it belonged. 

“Please,” Charles adds. “Please, Erik. If not for me, for Leo. For our little boy.”

For Leo. For his little  _ drachen,  _ who should have had the world at his feet and now had to stumble half blind through it. Erik blows out a breath through his mouth, and nods, stiff.

“Thank you,” Charles says, his tone reverted back to its emotionless, cold state. 

On the way back, Erik reaches for his hand. Charles lets him hold it, limp in his grasp. 

*

**_20 Hours Ago_ **

Erik’s unable to sleep that night. The folder burns a hole through the drawer at the side of the bed. After hours of being aware but being unable to look directly at it, he gets up, pushing open the door and heading down. He wonders if the mansion, now a school, looks quite this foreboding in the day. He certainly can’t recall it being like this, twisting corridors and looming shadows suddenly sinister. Or perhaps, his mind helpfully informs him, it’s a consequence of learning what Charles’ father had been like. 

He continues walking down the corridors, down the connected flights of stairs that lead to the lobby. Once there he tilts his head, a familiar accented voice reaching his ears. It’s coming from an office far off to the left, the rest of the lights in the mansion turned off for the night. Erik walks to the office, careful to keep out of sight, and leans against the pillar. 

Just visible, through a door that’s been left ajar, is Charles in his chair, holding Leo in his arms. Leo’s dancing on his lap, bending his knees and moving his head to the tune of the music that’s crooning softly from the radio. The little that Erik can see of Charles’ face is lit up, probably in a breathtaking smile as he sings along softly to the song from the radio. 

_ “ _ _ Yeah, baby, she's got it,”  _ Charles sings softly. Leo has one small hand clenched in the fabric of his cardigan, pudgy and soft.  _ “Well, I'm your Venus, I'm your fire, what's your desire...” _

Erik lets his head thunk softly against the wall, looking opposite him. On the other side of the great staircase in the middle of the lobby is a huge portrait. Erik’s never noticed it before but he notices it now. He recognises the man in it- a carbon copy of the man in the photo frame above. He looks severe, lips in a thin line and brow furrowed in a scowl. Even then, it’s obvious how handsome he must have been in reality.

_ “Well, I'm your Venus,”  _ Charles sings. 

Erik raises a hand, and the frame starts to shake. Minute trembles- Erik doesn’t have all that control over his abilities for nothing.

_ “I’m your fire…” _

Erik clenches his hand. The frame crumples into a ball with the picture in it, soundless. 

_ “What's your desire?” _

*

**_8 Hours Ago_ **

During one of the days when Erik had still been laid up in bed, the wound at his side swollen and inflamed with pain, Hank had explained the schedule to him in detail. “The younger kids- that would be Beth, Ilyana, Dani, Amara, and some of the others- are in classes together. The elder ones- Jean, Ororo, Scott and the rest- are in other classes together. We alternate their classes so when the older students are being taught, the younger ones are free. We also split the subjects amongst ourselves. Charles takes Literature, some of the sciences, and I take the others. Alex teaches History, Geography, and Phys Ed. He’s surprisingly good at it.” There had been a look in his eyes, besotted and warm, that had taken Erik by surprise. He’d thought Hank was still harbouring an old flame for Raven. Apparently not, if looks could be believed. 

When Erik goes down to the kitchen for lunch, the older students are there. “Takeout for today,” Jean tells Erik cheerfully. “Miss Tammy is sick.” Miss Tammy, the resident cook who was a matronly, friendly woman but also for some reason, deathly terrified of Erik. When he’d asked Alex why, all the boy had done was laugh in his face. 

“Don’t do that, I’ll make lunch,” Erik sighs, opening the cupboards. Groceries are running low, he notes, but there seems to be enough to make chicken lasagna. “How do you feel about lasagna?” he asks the kids at the table- all six of them, seated politely with their hands on the table. Charles always did teach manners well. 

“I love las- las-” Jean squints, pursing her mouth. Jubilee leans forward, chin on her palm and says, long and drawn-out, “las-agna.” 

Alex comes in then, hair visibly wet and a towel around his neck. He comes to a stop at the sight of Erik. After their tiff in the kitchen the other day, Alex has taken great care to just avoid Erik in a close vicinity in general. “You’re making lunch?”

“Takeout is unhealthy,” Erik points out, getting out the aluminium foil and the ingredients. “You have just enough for chicken lasagna.”

“We don’t do it often,” Alex sighs, making his way to the kitchen. “Here, tell me what to do and I’ll help-”

“Alex, Alex,” Scott says, pulling on Jean’s hair and smiling when she slaps ineffectually at his arm, not really annoyed. “Can we give the nice man some of the las-agna?”

“Which nice man, Scotty?” Alex asks, distracted as he takes out some clean bowls. There’s a lovebite blooming on the side of his neck, huge and unmistakeable. Erik makes a note to gossip to Charles about it later. 

“The nice man outside the fence in the garden,” Scott says, and both Erik and Alex freeze. 

Erik recovers first, almost skidding in his haste as he runs to Scott’s side. “Where did you see him?” Erik snaps, stretching his senses to feel for any stray metal that shouldn’t be there. Scott shrinks in his seat, hunching in on himself and Erik attempts to gentle his tone. “The nice man,” he says, more softly now. “Can you tell me where you saw him?”

“Um, by the garden,” Scott says, biting his lip. “I can show you. He’s very nice, Mister Erik. He gave me candy, see?” He takes out a lollipop from the pocket of his pants, showing it to Erik. It’s a Tootsie Pop, the kind Erik remembers loving as a kid. Shaw used to give them to him, out of some misguided attempt to patronise him. It didn’t make Erik hate Shaw any less, but at least the lollipop tasted nice. 

Erik takes the lollipop from him, handing it to Alex and quelling Scott’s word of protest with a single look. “I’ll buy you something better,” he says. “Come with me.” He extends his hand and Scott takes it, small hand engulfed in his. 

“I’ll inform the professor,” Alex says. When Erik looks back at him he’s white, jaw tight with worry and yet there’s a strange, calming confidence to him. Erik feels reluctantly impressed, against his own will. The boy from solitary confinement, all grown up. Charles had done well there. “Go on.”

The fence, predictably, is empty. Erik stalks the entire perimeter of the mansion, Scott doggedly following at his heels and refusing an offer by Erik to carry him on his back. There’s no one, however- no footprints, no detritus that could have possibly indicated the presence of an unwanted human. By the end of it Erik has a headache battering away at the sides of his skull from overusing his ability to scan each and every metal in the grounds.

“Is the man bad?” Scott finally asks, when Erik passes the fence for the fifth time. “Also, I’m hungry.”

“No,” Erik lies. He bends his knees, wincing a little as the pounding in his temples starts up again and the wound in his side throbs. He gestures for Scott to climb on, glaring at him when he attempts to refuse. Once Scott is carefully secured, knobby knees poking into his ribs and arms over his neck, Erik continues back towards the mansion. “You’re safe, Summers.”

“Of course,” Scott says derisively, as if the alternative is unfathomable. “And anyway, Mister Erik, I’m  _ seven.  _ I’m very old. I can protect all of us.” He drags out the  _ all,  _ and Erik has to hide a grin at how adorable it sounds. 

“Even so,” Erik says. “We just have to be careful, Summers. If you see that man around again, you get me, your brother or the professor immediately, you hear me?” The tangible fear he’d felt when Scott had talked about the man still clenches at him, a living, writhing thing. What would Charles have done if Erik hadn’t been here? 

“Okay,” Scott says easily. “Can you make las-agna for us again, Mister Erik?” 

“Sure thing, kiddo,” Erik says. He kicks open the front doors and there, in the front lobby, is Charles, Hank and Alex, heads bent together. At his entrance all three of them look up, but Erik only has eyes for Charles. Charles, who looks-

-who looks  _ terrified,  _ his bottom lip bitten through and neck tight with tension. Erik swallows and approaches them, carrying Scott across his back. “I swept the perimeter five times,” he says apologetically. “There’s no one.”

Charles’ eyes briefly flick to Scott. “We’ll talk about this later,” he says. “The kids are asking for chicken lasagna, something about you promising them that.”

“I want chicken las-agna!” Scott yells, right next to Erik’s ear. Charles visibly softens at that, entire countenance relaxing as he leans forward to brush his fingers against Erik’s, light as a feather. 

“Go on, my darlings,” Charles says. “I just- have to make a phone call.”

While the kids eagerly dig into the lasagna, Erik heads back out into the lobby. It’s just Charles there, ear glued to the receiver as he plays with the coiled cord. “Very well,” Charles is saying, every limb in him held so stiff it looks as if a light breeze would flay him into pieces. “I look forward to meeting you.”

Erik leans against one of the pillars. The back of his head throbs, a light thrumming pulse. If Charles knows he’s standing there, he gives no indication.

“No, of course not,” Charles says, voice still pleasant. “I assure you, the pleasure is all mine.” He puts the phone back in its holder, and for a second sits still, looking aged beyond his years. A hand comes up, trembling, to squeeze at the bridge of his nose. 

Erik steps forward, then, the pounding in his head reaching a crescendo. The wound at his side feels like it’s on fire. “Charles,” he croaks. “Who was it?”

“That pushy parent,” Charles says, giving him a brief smile. It melts away when he inspects Erik’s face. “You’re pale. It was all that walking, wasn’t it? Did you take your meds?”

“I didn’t forget, for once. I probably just strained it,” Erik says, running a hand through his hair and briefly rubbing at the sides of his head. “We have to shore up defences. You should make someone patrol at all times, ban outdoor activities for the time being.”

“You’re warming up to your time here,” Charles says, grinning, and when Erik moves to protest, shakes his head. “No- no, you’re right. This is highly concerning. I’ll inform the rest, tell Miss Tammy to stop coming.” He blows a breath out through his mouth, forceful and heavy, and it makes the brown locks at the front of his face shift. He looks achingly young and impossibly old at the same time. “God. If Leo had been with them-”

“He wasn’t,” Erik says, and hesitantly, reaches out a hand and brushes the back of his fingers down Charles’ left cheek. Charles leans into the touch, eyes briefly closing. Erik can see the depth of his eyebags in such a close vicinity, the slight purple tint to them. “That’s all that matters.”

Charles sighs, one last time, and pulls away. “Get some rest, you’re five seconds away from falling over,” he says. “I need to talk to Alex and Hank. Also, mind letting me know what happened to that horrific portrait of my father on the wall over there? It’s gone.”

“No clue,” Erik lies. He goes on his knees, ducking in to press a kiss to Charles’ lips. It feels warm and like a homecoming of sorts, as always, Charles parting his lips like the blooming of a flower beneath the sun and letting him in. “I’ll keep you safe,” Erik whispers, pressing his forehead to Charles’s own one.

“I know,” Charles says softly. “But what if-”  _ what if it isn’t enough?  _ The thought rings through both of their heads, Charles’ voice hoarse with anxiety.

Charles, always shouldering the burden of worrying after his students. Let me take the weight from you, Erik wants to say, wants to whisper into the thin skin on the nape of his neck dotted with freckles like stardust. Let me be your Atlas. 

“It will be,” Erik says aloud. “It has to be.”

*

**_Thirty Minutes Ago_ **

This time round, Erik knows he’s dreaming. 

Charles is opposite him, once again thrashing him in a chess game. Three more moves, and it will be check. An apt analogy for their lives- Charles, always ahead of him somehow, always with machinations in his head Erik will never be privy to.

“That’s a tad too dramatic,” Charles says. His eyes are fucking twinkling. Of course they twinkle, Erik thinks irritably. “I don’t  _ always  _ scheme.”

Erik sighs loudly. “I’m losing once again,” he says instead. “This is strange. Why do I know this is a dream?”

“Because it’s not really one,” Charles says, tucking his knees up beneath him. Definitely a dream, then. “It’s the dreamscape, the world within your mind. But I’m as real as anything, talking to you across a table that sure as hell feels real to me.” He’s once again in Erik’s turtleneck, the sleeves bunched up on his wrists. 

Erik moves his bishop, biting back a curse when Charles moves instantly to take his pawn. “And why do I always lose in these chess games?” he demands. 

“I don’t know, Erik,” Charles says, grinning. “It’s  _ your _ dreamscape. I’m just travelling.” 

They continue to play, surrounded by silence and the crackling of the fireplace. Once Erik tips his king over, he looks back up at Charles who’s rolling over one of the knights in his hand. He looks all manners of soft yet elegant, bundled up in that huge turtleneck with his feet tucked up beneath him. Gorgeous and yet, unattainable somehow. 

“I just- why didn’t you tell me?” Erik finally bursts out, the question exploding out of him. 

Charles props his knees up, resting his chin on them and gazing at Erik, his eyes serene and knowing. He looks- sweet and so goddamn young, in a way he hasn’t for years. “Would you have listened?” Charles enquires and that- that’s unfair. 

“It’s not,” Charles says, shrugging. “You were so- driven. In those days, Erik, remember? Nothing was as important to you as Shaw and the good of mutantkind. Definitely not me, anyway.”

“I would have stopped everything,” Erik says hotly. “For you, I would have stopped. You just had to let me  _ help _ you.” That was Charles’ problem- one of his many, actually- the irregularity wrecking the perfection of his soul. For all his goodness, he thought himself infallible. 

“Now you sound like Raven,” Charles laughs, the sound like bells on New Years’. “She said that to me, too. Said, you love people, but god forbid they love you back. Something like that, anyway.”

“You should listen to her more often,” Erik says. 

Charles sobers up, picking at a thread on the trousers that he’s wearing. Weirdly enough, they’re also Erik’s. For a moment, Erik wonders if Charles had chosen to do whatever he was doing right now, talk to him in his dreams while wearing his clothes, or that was just his possessive subconscious asserting itself the only way it knew how. 

“I knew Nathaniel Essex,” Charles says, and Erik blinks, frowning at the non-sequitur.

“Of course you did, I mean we were all there-”

“No, Erik,” Charles says, shaking his head, “I  _ knew  _ Nathaniel Essex. I knew him before you came to the front porch of my house, bleeding like a bloody maniac.”

Erik stills. “You- you said-”

“I lied,” Charles says, a rueful twist to his mouth. “And I’m sorry, but I had to. He approached me in the mall when I was in town with the kids, asked me for a date. I- didn’t decline, and he left me his number. He’s been pursuing me ever since.” 

The calls. The pushy parent. Erik feels like the blindest, dumbest person on the planet and he pushes up from the chair, set on fire. “What the  _ fuck,  _ Charles,” he snaps. “You- why didn’t you fucking tell me?”

“Because I’d do anything to protect my family,” Charles retorts. “Sell my soul, sell  _ myself  _ to protect you, Leo, Alex, Hank, the students. You’re my family, Erik.”

Erik inhales, and remembers the last call he’d heard Charles make. His sweet tones, as he’d said  _ I look forward to meeting you.  _ “Charles. You didn’t…”

There’s no other word for it. Charles looks devastated, sorrow in his beautiful eyes and in the set of his beautiful mouth, twisting them into a morbid portrait of something dark, something tragic. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “I had to. I couldn’t see you dead, I couldn’t see Leo dead at the hands of  _ my  _ error. I had to.”

“Charles, no,  _ no,”  _ Erik says, begs, doesn’t even know what he’s begging for. He crashes onto his knees, the impact painful, grabbing Charles’ hands in his own and pressing them against his face. They feel cold and clammy. This can’t be happening, he thinks. This can’t be real. “Charles, tell me- we can get out of this. You can- we can-”

Charles releases his grip on his hands, and then cups Erik’s face with his right hand, rubbing his thumb over his bottom lip. He smiles, tremulous and fragile. “Oh, my beautiful, beautiful darling,” he whispers. “I know you read that poem. The one I’d left on my table. Remember the last line?  _ Your heart the breeze, carrying me to the gold rim ahead of us.” _

Erik feels as if he’s been suspended in a nightmare. “Charles you  _ idiot,”  _ he hisses. “Stop, don’t you dare go, don’t you dare meet him, I’ll rip him apart myself if I have to, I’ll  _ kill  _ you myself-”

Charles slips to the floor fluidly, a movement of grace, something he’ll never be able to pull off in real life. He cups Erik’s face with his other hand too, and covers his lips with his own. This kiss feels as warm and real as anything, an explosion of sparks that set off behind his eyelids. “I’m not afraid, Erik,” he murmurs against his lips. “Carry me to the gold rim ahead of us.” 

_ Find me. _

Erik wakes, and he does so in a flurry of motion, his heart beating fit to explode out of his chest. He doesn’t spare a single thought for anything else, instantly storming down.  _ Charles, _ he thinks.  _ Charles, Charles, Charles- _

Alex is with the kids, handing out dessert. “Hey, you’ve been out for a long time,” he greets Erik. “Was about to send a brigade- what’s wrong?”

“Charles,” Erik pants. He’s shaking, he knows that. The students are all staring at him, terror in their eyes. Leo’s in his high chair, banging a rattle against the table, gazing back with his wide brown eyes.  _ Scheiße _ _ ,  _ Charles has left Leo behind too, Charles has left their fucking son behind. What had he been thinking? 

_ I will find you,  _ Erik promises silently.  _ And then I will wring your fucking neck. _

“He’s out, said he had some parent to see to-”

“All lies,” Erik snaps. “Fucking hell, Summers, he’s out to see  _ Essex.” _

Alex blinks at him once, his jaw open. Then he seems to gather himself together, instantly snapping into action. “Right, I’m taking the car keys, you’re in no state to drive. Explain to me in the car. Hank! Get out of the lab and help take over the kiddos!”

“We can look after ourselves,” Scott says grumpily. He looks afraid, however, his fists clenched visibly and jaw trembling. The rest of the students are faring no better, save for Leo who’s still banging his rattle. He’s too young to know any different- too young to lose another parent so soon, Erik thinks with a hollow sort of despair. 

“Will the professor be okay?” Jean asks, her voice small.

Erik stares at her. He can’t respond. All his nerves are firing on empty. 

“Of course he will be,” Alex says, sending her a smile. He grips Erik’s shoulder, bracing and firm. “We’ll be just in time, and we’ll scold him good and proper for lying to us and leaving, won’t we?”

*

**_Now_ **

They’re not in time.

It had taken about ten minutes to find the diner. They’d spent the first five minutes of that frantically going down the streets in town, Erik casting his senses around for the metal of Charles’ chair while Alex sat beside him, vibrating with tension and his knuckles white around the wheel of the car. Time, though, wasn’t on their side. 

The diner was in the classier part of town, both the surrounding streets and the interior itself still empty save for an occupied table in the middle. The second Alex slows the car to a crawl Erik bursts out of it, stumbling on the curb and scrambling to the glass windows at the side of the diner. 

Charles is there. Stupid, stupid,  _ stupid  _ Charles, who had lied to him and said they’d do everything together is there, skin starkly white against the navy of his pressed shirt while Nathaniel Essex stands behind him, hand on his shoulder. Not tight, but the hold is firm enough and Erik has never wanted more to break every single bone in someone else’s body. He will hold Nathaniel Essex down, he will crush every single one of his limbs to dust, he will-

Charles turns his head and stares through the window, right into Erik’s eyes. His own are watery and as Erik watches a tear falls, darkening the cloth of his shirt. Erik knows what he’d say if he could speak at that moment. Charles in his dream, pressing a kiss against his lips, had said enough. 

Essex turns his head as well, and smiles, staring directly at Erik. The hand on Charles’ shoulder clamps down, and Erik- 

Erik loses his mind. The last grip on sanity leaves him like quicksand. He barely feels Alex’s arms coming around him, gripping him and holding him back as he screams.  _ “NO!  _ Charles, Charles- you let him go, you let him  _ fucking  _ go-”

“Erik,” Alex hisses in his ear. “Erik, he has his men surrounding us. Erik, calm  _ down  _ before you get us all killed!”

Essex says nothing. Essex stares at him, that cold smile curling his lips, proprietary hand on Erik’s shoulder. It’s Charles who raises his fingers, up his tear-streaked face to his temple.  _ Erik. Erik, my love, calm yourself. _

“No,” Erik sobs, sagging in Alex’s hold. He feels wrought out and empty, chewed up and spat out like a piece of chewing gum. The wound flares up at his side, a ball of fire. 

_ You’ve forgotten your meds again. I told you not to forget them, Erik. _

“Let me kill him,” Erik says, tugging ineffectually at Alex who’s silent, trembling behind him. “Charles, liebling-”

_ He’s a telepath, and a pretty strong one at that. He’s got his men surrounding us. It’s okay, Erik. I reached a deal with him. He has me, and he lets the school and you go.  _ Despite the pragmatic tone of his mental voice Charles’ lower lip is trembling, his fingers shaking at his temple. There’s a red mark around his wrist where the shirt sleeve has slipped down, visible. Charles is terrified, it’s clear as day. 

If there had been anything left of Erik’s heart at all, it shatters into pieces.

“You bastard,” Erik snarls, spitting. The lamppost off to the side starts to bend. 

_ Erik. Remember what I told you, love. I’d do anything for my family.  _

“Charles, don’t,” Erik whispers. “Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me. Don’t-” It’s as if he can’t control what he’s saying anymore. He moves his lips and words fall out like a torrent, unrestrained. 

_ I love you, Erik. _ The tears are streaming freely from Charles’ eyes now, a constant downpour. The wet patch on his shirt grows ever bigger. Essex’s smile widens, and Erik has never thought he’d want to murder someone as much as he’d wanted to murder Shaw, all those years ago. _ I love you so fucking much. I’m sorry. I love you. I love you I love you I love you Iloveyouloveyouloveyouloveyou- _

“Charles,” Erik says. Or screams, or cries, or bawls- he can’t really tell anymore. He feels as if he’s fully dissociated, watching his body sag in Alex’s arms, defeated and far, far too late. He’s always too late, he realises now. Too late to move the coin, and now, too late to save the only love of his life.

He watches as Essex grips Charles’ shoulder even tighter, his other hand closing around Charles’ throat. Against his hand it looks breakable, even more so than it did before.

_ Close your eyes, my darling. You don’t need to see this. _

Erik doesn’t want to listen. Charles’ eyes water again and his mind encloses Erik’s like a warm blanket, comforting and patronising, and Erik closes his eyes. Erik closes his eyes, and opens them a second later. The diner is empty, and Alex is still standing next to him, arms around his chest. They’re gone.

Charles is gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a) pls dont kill me for the ending there's a sequel coming  
> b) i have loved loved loved every comment so far pls keep them coming i love u all!  
> c) the poem in this story is written by sam who's a gem and an excellent writer. pls do not use it elsewhere  
> d) bc the dreamscape works different to irl there's quite a bit of time between when the dream ends and erik wakes up, say.. half an hour tops. "why is it different, su?" u ask. because its my fucking fic, deal with it.  
> e) 'the nice man' was indeed essex props to anyone who figured it out  
> f) erik does not yet know abt cain and kurt marko. he will either find out in part 2 of this series or a companion fic if for some reason i dont feel like writing it in
> 
> thats about it. come yell at me on twitter or tumblr. leave a comment and/or kudos u know the drill

**Author's Note:**

> a) what leo goes through in the facility and what erik did to get him out has been kept secretive in this chapter because it will be explored in the second chapter (or a sequel if for some reason i cant get it into the second chapter)  
> b) i do have a list of students who are currently at the mansion when the events of this fic happen, i haven't included this list here but if for some reason you wanna know hit me up with a dm or an ask on tumblr  
> c) chapter 2 will also be up next week latest!
> 
> hope yall liked this and don't forget to leave a comment and/or kudos, they'll go a long way towards ensuring i get the motivation to still keep writing! as always you can hmu on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ROBBIETURNCR) or on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/himbomcavoy)


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